Without You I'm Nothing: A Rule of Rose Fanfic
by Malefilus
Summary: When Eleanor is adopted by an American couple residing in Boston, will she finally be able to spread her wings and accept life away from the orphanage, or will her past sins forever inhibit her from having a normal life? Note: This is a meant to be a happy story not containing depressing elements, since I felt sorry for Eleanor in the game.
1. One Less Corpse For The Pyre

Without You I'm Nothing: A Rule of Rose Fanfic

Note: This fanfiction was inspired by not solely Rule of Rose but also the Placebo song Without You I'm Nothing. As such I do not own either the song or Rule of Rose. Atlus and Placebo have those honours.

Author's Note: This shall likely be rife with OOC characterization, since in some cases I did not find that enough characteristics were included to make the girl more than a cliché. I shall do my best to ensure that the portrayal of the girls in this story are respectful and accurate to the original. I do not own anything except for the couple who adopt Eleanor-the Montahagans.

Chapter One: One Less Corpse for the Pyre

**Rose Garden Orphanage-Cardington, Bedfordshire, England-March 10, 1930 10:30 a.m.**

Gloom. Such was all that permeated the entirety of the stratosphere-at least that was what the twelve year old Eleanor surmised.

Eleanor was an ornithological enthusiast-the crimson plumed aviary occupying the gilded cage resting upon the polished, marble railing the mahogany quaffed schoolgirl morosely reclined behind. It was perceived as "filthy" or "simply not done" to sit upon the ash gray wooden floor (despite it being consistently cleaned) but the perception of her peers was a facet that the waif did not allow to daunt her.

There was a "royal" hierarchy among the orphans at the Rose Garden Orphanage; Eleanor herself deemed "Countess" in this fictitious, albeit malicious, "domain" that she occupied overseen by the "Aristocracy" known as The Rule of Rose. Though Eleanor's vestige of minimal enjoyment from her minute position of power was certainly evident, all the child wished for was freedom from the dreary, hate-mongering, militant atmosphere of the orphanage. If only she were to be adopted, but families came and families went; none passing a glance at the aloof, gangly youth but preferring the more lively girls or the enthusiastic, carefree boys.

"Eleanor, it's no wonder you've been passed over all these years with how little you care to come out of your shell." Diana, the fourteen year old (in her typical, antagonistic, arrogant fashion), "true" queen of the house and the absolute bane of Eleanor's existence chided her time after time but one can only step so far out of their shell before their entire personality becomes irreparably altered to the point of being unrecognizable as the same girl.

Despondently, Eleanor pulled her knees to her chest-the lewd position unfazing her as the brownish-orange hem of her dress was gripped absently between her right thumb and forefinger. The red flowers along the hem began to billow and sway as a gust of wind caught the material and forced it upward (Eleanor pushing the flap of material down if for nothing else than for modesty's sake)-the girl crossing her legs at the ankles forcing her bare toes to press into the cold wood beneath them.

"Am I truly hideous, Albert?" Her eyes affixed on the aviary swaying upon his perch, the query would have been barely audible even if another human HAD been on the northern balcony with her and not merely a bird (HER precious bird), but since Albert was all that served as company for her he uttered a simple chirp in response. "*Sighs* Yeah, that's what I thought. Even Jennifer would be more likely to be adopted than me." Known as the "Cold-hearted Princess", few could attest to knowing what the immensely aloof and jealously private Eleanor was thinking at a given time-much less be permitted access within her inner circle and bestowed with this...

Eleanor began to sob; the tears saturating her rough dress.

"Dammit *Sniffs*, now I'm *Wheezes* just like that crybaby Olivia." Wiping her eyes with the back of her left hand (first the left eye than the right), Eleanor rose to her feet and began to amble towards the glass paned, oaken door leading back within the house when the sputter of a 1928 Cadillac V-16 was heard coming up the narrow road leading to the orphanage-Eleanor halting momentarily.

Eleanor knew better than to get her hopes up, even when such a situation could present itself for her to be adopted; the child, shaking her head, turned retrieved her feathery companion and returned within the prison she so desperately wished to escape.

The slam of a car door tore ten year old Jennifer's attention from the joyful embrace she was entwined within on the part of her forbidden lover. Brunette and petite, cowardly and meek all surmised Jennifer- the orphanage's doormat on a reasonable day, and Shaggy Rogers when Diana opted to inflict torment upon her targeted member of the orphan population on most others. Jennifer's lover was, for the time, not solely a forbidden fruit by the orphanage's standards but by society's at large.

HER name was Wendy: blonde and pretty, confident and the rock of their relationship giving Jennifer hope and serving as the sole human who brought her joy at the orphanage. She was also the actual "ruler" of the orphans as the "Princess of the Rose", and head of The Rule of Rose. She was not the eldest member of The Rule, at eleven, but her brilliance, cunning and shrewdness garnered her the respect of all of the orphans in the house. Despite this, Diana was not afraid to speak her mind to the younger girl.

Their relationship was pure, true and one that they could never discuss with the other orphans, else Jennifer be further ostracized than she already was; the young girl's relationship with Wendy likely not mattering to the greater populous of the house and would not be a means of protection for her and her being the subject of torment and ridicule only serving to become that much more compounded. This era did not accept same sex relationships as readily, and those in them were forced to keep it under wraps.

Jennifer and Wendy were clad in matching gray dresses with equally matching white pinafores-Wendy opting for a white bonnet, with pink ribbons jutting from the sides and tying at the chin. Jennifer did not own a dapper hat like Wendy's, and despite Wendy's numerous altercations with her fellow "Aristocrats" petitioning that a hat be stolen for her "sister" Jennifer, Diana responded with a virulent "THAT filthy girl? I'd rather eat after a swine." and stormed out, finally, from the meeting room. Save for Eleanor, the remnant of the Rule of Rose were not at all receptive to the notion; Eleanor replying with "Just steal one from Martha. The old bag goes out every Tuesday to the grocer, so wait til she returns and nick her bonnet off the boot of the auto."

In theory, that would have worked out smashingly if not for the "headmaster" and collective tyrant to all of the orphans: Mister Hoffman-the eyes and ears of the orphanage, and a damn ruthless individual (despite his outward signs of geniality).

Diana loathed him, his fondling of her young body and the consistent rape which Clara had, sobbingly, confided in her. This one facet was the sole thread which bonded Clara and Diana (Clara the only individual in the entire house whom she could call "friend"). Hoffman had been accused by Martha, on a handful of occasions, of being involved in such lascivious behaviour with the older girls, but never had evidence for which to display as her trump card; Diana was among Hoffman's victims, and it took all of her resolve to not sneak into his room at night and slit his throat in cold blood (too many accusatory ramifications on the part of the immensely suspicious Martha). Also, such peon work was beneath her.

Eleanor was indifferent to him-neither preferring or disliking him one way or the other. Hoffman did not pass even the slightest hint of a lustful gaze at the spindly wisp of a girl more concerned with her pet finch than human interaction. To Diana, Meg or any of the orphans' knowledge Eleanor did not have any "friends". Oh, certainly, she kept amicable relationships with her fellow Aristocrats, but when someone does not even have one true friend she becomes less than desirable. Even if Eleanor did possess one friend, Hoffman preferred his girls young but with jailbait curves-a trait Eleanor did not have, being petite.

Meg, an eleven year old blonde who (though book smart) could not see that the object of her affections (Diana) did not reciprocate said affections, but being that she loved the cruel and malicious Diana she followed her every whim. Much like Eleanor, Hoffman's lecherous eyes would not fall upon Meg until she attained "womanhood"; the filthy old man's penchant for the distasteful never surprising the more attentive members of the household. Unfortunately, or fortunately for her in this case, Meg was not attentive and would pursue her amorous attractions until they either drove her mad, to drink or to take her own life.

Jennifer was the sole member of the household who did not dislike Hoffman. She, in fact, sought his approval and did all she could to stay clean, be respectful and stay out of mischief; mischief, however, magnetized to her whether she liked it or not. "Dirty Jennifer" would never be on Hoffman's radar, even if she blossomed into an attractive young woman with her hair in a stylish bun. "Filth is filth, and I cannot, shall not tolerate it in my house!" The disgusting old man repeated this time and again to the poor girl; Diana finding a way to "spectate" each and every time, and finding (each and every time) harboring an emotion she would NEVER admit she held for the younger girl's predicament: jealously.

Jennifer and Wendy were in the garden behind the orphanage-had they bothered to look up and to the left they could have seen Eleanor retrieving her bird before she reentered the estate, but the doorway back inside was tucked just so that they could not see her retreating back within or while she reclined upon the wood.

Both Jennifer and Wendy HAD heard the sputtering of the vehicle, but although Jennifer was the sole member of the duo to outwardly display a level of excitement to regard its arrival Wendy smiled at the possibility that they could both be adopted and live their lives together away from that terrible place even though venturing into the house at that juncture would entail releasing her lover. However, if she and Jennifer were adopted, who would replace her as Princess of the Rose?

"Wendy, my love, did you hear that? [Wendy does not react right away-merely giving a smile and a nod] This could be our chance!" The jubilant Jennifer's gleeful smile stretching across her face brought Wendy's lips to the brunette's cheek.

"Darling, [Purses her lips together] as deeply as I wish for that to be a family to adopt us I do not want you to get your hopes up only to have them dashed." The blonde tightened her embrace around her lover's middle-kissing her cheek again.

Wendy truly did love Jennifer (would do anything to make her happy)-her possessive clinging to the girl aside-and longed for her "Prince" to think for a moment, slow down and consider all of the variables before dashing off into a heartbreaking circumstance which would only await her. Within her ever calculating mind, Wendy repeated one phrase: "Don't bring the dog. Don't bring the dog. Don't bring the BLOODY, FILTHY mongrel! You're mine, Jennifer." Despite the disdain she held for Jennifer's Labrador puppy, Brown, she kept her outward emotions in check-Jennifer none the wiser.

"We'll never know unless we go and see for ourselves." Jennifer smiled at the pretty blonde clutching her, kissed the older girl's lips; pleading, hazel eyes penetrating into Wendy's deep blue oculars.

Wendy released her with a smile. "Of course, my love. We could start our lives anew away from this miserable place."

Quickly getting to her feet, Jennifer aided her girlfriend upward; the couple, hand in hand, dashing through the garden gate at an even pace, past the underside of the balcony, creeping past the side, kitchen door in trepidation that Martha (the housekeeper) would hear them.

As they rounded the side of the house and halted, the Cadillac was parked at the gates of the estate; a couple, early thirties Wendy surmised, standing at the entrance to the establishment conversing (inaudibly) with Hoffman.

The gentleman was of average height, average build and did not strike the girls as anyone of importance, but Wendy and Jennifer had to find out more, so they quietly retreated back the way they came and into the side, kitchen entrance.

"Mister Hoffman, I'm Brian Montahagan. Me and Delores spoke wit' ye last night." His voice was as un-English as his attire (Hoffman unable to place the accent). Montahagan's wardrobe waxed very...American with his brown derby atop blonde hair which fell downward over deep, blue eyes, brown with green pinstripe suit, powder blue button down and no tie. Montahagan extended his hand to the elderly man standing in the doorway but a foot in front of him.

Brian Montahagan bore the air of a man born into luxury, raised in Boston but trying his absolute hardest to imitate the "tough guy" from New York. His body language spoke volumes to the pedophile standing in front of him-Hoffman knowing the type, but not convinced this was not merely an act (praying that these two individuals were not going to rob him at gunpoint, ala Bonnie and Clyde).

Delores was quite attractive, and her attire complemented her rouge packed cheeks, crimson lips, pale skin and shoulder length red hair (tight curls scrunching the locks on the sides of her head in a seemingly painful manner). Her navy blue with white daisies dress hung loose about her spindly, gangly, skeletal frame-as though she were a coat rack. Ivory white high heels shod her petite feet-Hoffman inwardly inquiring if the woman before him was as old as she claimed to be or if he was gazing at an incredibly attractive teenage girl based on her frame (the overtly lengthy, double stranded length of pearl necklaces did little to help her case with him pondering whether she stole her mother's clothing that day to be with her older boyfriend or if she was, indeed a thirty-two year old woman). The icing on the cake was a black, pillbox hat with tiny, ebony feathers jutting out of the top haphazardly sitting daintily upon her fiery locks-a loose, mesh netting draped over her face.

Delores absently twirled her purse by the strap as though a London Liberty & Co, crocodile skin lasso-the extra long strap winding about her fingers causing light indentations to surface when she unwound the strap, reached into her purse and fished out a package of bubble gum, popped a piece into her mouth and began smacking it.

Brian shifted his stance in his black, crocodile shoes while taking in the ambiance of the estate before him.

Rose Garden Orphanage was not what he was expecting. He had expected perhaps a one story, modest structure that was cute, in name only, but nothing spectacular like the mansion he had driven up to.

Brian had stopped in Ampthill to ask for directions to Rose Garden-the city hall secretary taking no time at all to provide him with detailed directions to the lavish homestead.

"I grew up there meself, sir. Left when I was eighteen, says I." The secretary's bright smile beamed back at Brian-her brunette hair tied into a bun (a pencil shoved through it).

Hoffman smiled warmly-the usual din of the orphanage precisely what the Montahagans were used to-shaking the American's hand.

Brian and Delores had passed by twenty-four other orphanages in the surrounding six regions, but each one had children whom appeared even more sickly than the last (both Montahagans' hearts breaking for them, but they simply did not have the room to take them all). Then, perusing a daily newspaper, Rose Garden Orphanage popped out in bold, black letters with an oversized ad right in the middle of the fourth page. Brian wasted no time to inquire about the place, and received glowing remarks from the community at large (some of those providing information, like the secretary, having grown up there themselves only to be adopted and moving onto holding successful, stable lives).

"It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. [Retracts his hand and retreats backward a few steps, opening the door for the couple] Do come in." The Montahagans passed across the threshold into Rose Garden Orphanage-the couple stopping in the centre of the entryway hearing the door shut behind them. Hoffman popped his neck-the stiffness therein from the night before, having engaged in (yet another) "pleasurable" night with the resident nurse: sixteen year old Clara. A man of his age knew when the girls did not enjoy it, but that drove home the enjoyment all the more. It was a power trip for him, and he would be damned if a little stiffness took that away.

The front room was exquisite-much more than Brian would have dreamed would be within an orphanage. These children were obviously well cared for.

Cedar paneling served to make up the the entirety of the wall from where he stood at the entrace all the way as far as he could see to the furthest recesses of the back of the house, and likely beyond. Twisting, turning stairs arched themselves to the right and upward about fifty feet from where the couple stood; a mahogany quaffed, wisp of a girl watched the couple from the top of the first set of stairs (she always watched everything which transpired in the house; it being preferable to be informed than to be out of the loop).

Xavier and Nicholas, the former dubbed "the Gluttonous Prince" and the latter "the Sloppy Prince", were dueling with branches that had been stripped of their twigs just to the left as the couple entered; Hoffman ordinarily berating them for their horseplay, but with his attention affixed on the young couple he did not notice the duel taking place even in such a close proximity. Xavier was clad in an undersized, gray with black, horizontal stripes long sleeved shirt which barely covered his pudgy belly, black short pants and brown short boots. His messy, red hair bobbed to and fro as he strafed to the right; just dodging a thrust from Nicholas' usually well timed swordplay. However, this strafe had unforeseen consequences.

As Xavier strafed, he stumbled backwards and collided into Brian's well toned, muscular left leg.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Hoffman threw up his hands in disgust-Xavier cowering, expecting Hoffman to beat him with his riding crop or (at the very least) a ruler. Nicholas backed into the shadows-his "sword" tossed into the nearby umbrella stand but Hoffman was no fool. He may have been a lecherous old man, but his eyesight was impeccable. "Nicholas! Get over here and greet our guests." Nicholas poked his head into the front room-the lad's blue, denim overall strap sliding down his skinny left arm (exposing his white t-shirt covered shoulder underneath) causing him to shove it back up; the "knight" dashing over to join Xavier before the Montahagans.

"Don't be fearin' us any, kiddos." Brian's handsome, mustached upper lip turned up into a smile as he knelt down to the two nine year olds' level. "My name is Brian, boys. [Places his hands upon his pinstriped knees-Xavier and Nicholas nervously eying him] My wife cannot have children, so we're here to adopt." The knightly duo grinned happily-high fiving each other as Hoffman's perpetual scowl towards the boys shifted into relief. "What are your names, boys?"

Xavier bowed-the chubby boy elbowing Nicholas to do the same.

"My name is Sir Xavier, and [Thumbs to his slender companion] this is Sir Nicholas. We're both nine." Hoffman nodded in approval-his coaching the children on what to say may have felt scripted, but it did serve as the ice breaker for every family who wandered into the orphanage and happened to wish to even fancy chatting with the swordsmen.

Brian laughed gleefully-the pair of adventurous rogues certainly energetic, but...

Xavier cocked his left eyebrow as he caught a whiff of a strange odor emanating from Brian; Delores reaching into her purse and offering the boys some of her gum (both boys happily taking a piece).

"Oi! Mister Brian, you smell strange." Hoffman's eyes shot open in horror-the elderly man rushing forward and clamping his left hand over Xavier's incredibly loud, horribly rude mouth.

Brian released a short "Hmmm?" then proceeded to lift each arm and sniff himself.

"OH! [Brian chuckles- knowing the smell-as he stands upright] That would be from my last expedition to Africa, boys. I study aviary of all shapes, sizes and colors, and some o' their scent must'a clung to me." Xavier and Nicholas glanced at one another and shared the similar look of "The shit is an aviary?"

Delores leaned to her husband-her pearls rattling as she whispered in his ear.

"Doll, why dontcha just tell the boys whatcha mean? They ain't like me what's been on these trips with you." She was absolutely correct, and with a nod to his wife, who returned to her standing position, Brian reached into his inner, jacket pocket and retrieved a minute, aluminum case. Little did he know that the mahogany quaffed girl had made her way down the stairs, with her birdcage and was listening as intently as the distance from the bottom of the steps and Brian would allow.

Eleanor knew, with a certainty, what "aviary" meant. While the two slobs standing before the well dressed man could never appreciate the nuances of differing species of finches, Eleanor, after bribing Meg with doing the bespectacled girl's chores for an entire month, was able to receive aid in learning about all of the known species of birds; Meg arrogantly throwing in her own two cents of what she "understood" to be true based on the books. After being aided in learning all that she could from what the library had available, Eleanor's passion for the ornithological implanted itself deeply and birthed within her a desire to pursue that as a profession when she was older.

Hearing the word "aviary" from a clearly wealthy man caused Eleanor to stealthily creepy from the stairs, across the foyer, and into an an alcove adjacent to the one Xavier and Nicholas had previously occupied. She wished to hear everything this fellow had to say.

For once, a family arrived who was interesting, and for all she knew he was a veterinarian or a nature photographer. She had done just that herself-stealing Hoffman's camera from his closet and carefully positioning it on her balcony so she could observe passerby birds in their natural habitat and capture their beauty to appreciate later.

The man had pulled out a stack of photographs from his jacket (that much she had seen prior to moving closer to him) and now he was passionately describing the differences between the Hildebrand and the Superb starling-complete with photos. If only she could see those pictures herself, but with Xavier and Nicholas only a few feet away she could not risk it without them poking fun at her once again.

"Eleanor smells like poop."

"Do ya ever clean that filthy cage, Eleanor?"

She was used to the twits' ignorant form of bullying, so while she could take it she did not want to "take it" while simultaneously trying to enjoy herself in a legitimately fascinating discussion.

She cursed under her breath-her forgetting of her tiny notebook that Meg had given her to take research notes on by leaving it under her pillow in the dorm.

"To hell with it. I have got to talk with this man." Eleanor's determination to get closer was interrupted by Albert chirping in his gilded cage beside of her. "Shit..." The soft curse uttered, Albert ceased his chirping (as though reading his master's discomfort).

Brian grinned. He had noticed the wispy, mahogany quaffed girl creep closer to him out of his peripheral vision. Sure, his lecture on the differences between the starlings was boring to the two boys before him-Xavier's eyes having glazed over and Nicholas forming a trail of drool from his mouth to the floor-but this girl seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. Even if he HAD not been paying any mind to his surroundings, a lone bird's chirp was all it took to alert him.

"Mister Hoffman, [The elderly man edges close to the young American] who's the dame what loves birds?" Hoffman was taken aback by Brian's interest in the young ornithological enthusiast-the elderly man's gaze following Brian's nodding in the direction to where Eleanor hid.

"Oh, that would be Eleanor, Mister Montahagan. You will be lucky if you get any sort of response out of her though." Brian exchanged a joyful gaze with Delores-Xavier and Nicholas having woken up from their respective daydreams-before stepping past the two boys and heading the ten feet to where Eleanor hid.

Brian sat down against the narrow part of the wall-Eleanor starting at the sudden presence of another human being-and shuffled the pictures in his hands (the young American motioning for Delores to join him-the trendy, streetwise gal obliging happily, her heels clicking soundly against the tile).

"So, m' young aviary enthusiast, you are Eleanor then." The ordinarily stoic girl poked her head around the corner and nodded-excitement in her eyes. "My name is Brian Montahagan. My wife here's Delores. I study, photograph birds as a hobby." He handed the stack of photos to Eleanor; the ordinarily restrained youth snatching the photos, and exhibiting more emotion in that moment than she had any other time the past year (save for when she could indulge in some birdwatching-before Hoffman confiscated HIS camera and grounded her for a week).

"Do you like them, sweety?" Eleanor was transfixed by the absolute grace and beauty exhibited in the photos-she feeling like she could reach out and touch the birds in them, but knew that would just be silly to try. Her own photos, fortunately for her, were able to be hidden before Hoffman could have a chance to confiscate them as well. Maybe she should show this kind man HER photos...

"Yes. They are...They are wonderful, sir." Her reply was barely audible-the mumbled utterance halfway between a whisper and a yawn. Then, Eleanor did something that Xavier and Nicholas or Hoffman, for that matter, had ever seen her do: she smiled. She smiled a legitimate smile of pure joy.

Everyone in the orphanage knew that Eleanor adored her bird, and had been know to be furious if anyone even so much as looked at her bird with malicious intent, but smile? Never.

It wasn't all tooth and gums in its fullness, but it was clear that Eleanor COULD express joy-this stranger breaking down the barrier (of abject apathy) she had implemented to keep herself safe from those who would harm her. Now, with his expressed desire to adopt-as explained to Xavier and Nicholas-was she going to be...?

"Hey! We have never seen ya smile before, Eleanor." Xavier, for once, did not have any sort of smugness or mischievousness in his tone. It was an observation, and that was all. "You should do it more often." Xavier gave a thumbs up-Nicholas speechless and frozen in place, as though the mere fact Eleanor smiled would rip apart the very fabric of space around him.

Hoffman was stunned as he approached the young girl. This stranger, an American of all people, was able to break down Eleanor's barrier of stoic, absolute indifference, and make her smile.

"No family ever shows affection for Eleanor, Mister Montahagan. Most tell me that she is too glum and detached to ever wish to have as their own." Hoffman nodded in approval-impressed. "Would you wish to bring her into my office? I have her file on record if you were thinking about..." He didn't finish the sentence, for in that moment Eleanor did what was even stranger to see than simply smile: she hugged Brian-the photos falling into the folds of her skirt and staying there.

Hoffman's jaw dropped, Xavier nearly fainted, and Nicholas was gazing about at the walls to see if they were coming undone from this unnatural turn of events.

Brian hugged the girl in return-patting her slender, near anorexic, back.

"Eleanor [Releases the hug, but holds onto her shoulders-Delores weeping at the beautiful scene as she sat down by her man's side] I am a filmmaker by trade. Come from a few generations back worth of wealth, luxury and fame." Eleanor remained silent-her eyes never leaving his, to see where this was going. "[Gets more comfortable upon the floor-Delores resting a hand upon his thigh, smiling at the preteen] Birdwatching is more than a hobby f' me, doll. I own a preserve back home in Mass." Exchanges a gaze with Delores-uncertain of exactly how to phrase the next bit.

"What da hubby here is strugglin' t' get out, love, is how'd ya like t' come back to America and live with us? We could be ya momma and daddy and you can have anything money can buy, but more importantly you'z 'll have a family." Delores's sweet smile waxed soothing to the petite girl-Eleanor having no inkling of a notion how to react to this incredible offer.

"I don't...[Tears fill the child's eyes-another facet of her being the occupants of the manor had never seen-as she sits back on the floor and gazes down at the pictures in her lap, to Albert who merrily hopped about on his perch and to the couple who are strangers wishing desperately to be parents and adopt a child]" Delores throws her arms around Eleanor, but unknown to the trio a sinister fourteen year old watched from a hidden spot in the railing adjacent to them. "So many families have come through, took one look at me and said "No" because of my size or that I did not speak to them, but my love for birds shares a bond with yours and...I can have a family? Is this actually happening?" It seemed too good to be true, but both slender and incredibly muscular arms surrounded the child assuring her that this was, INDEED, happening.

"Come now, you lot, we must'nt dawdle if we are to get Eleanor here adopted. There is an interview to be had, paperwork to fill out and I haven't even asked if you want more than one child." Brian was clearly new to this, and those details had slipped his mind-the filmmaker releasing Eleanor and his wife (getting to his feet and helping the ladies to theirs).

Eleanor quickly put the photos back into a proper sort and handed them back to Brian.

"[Smiles, pushing them back to her] You can keep those, honey. I was hoping to adopt a child who I can share my love f' birds, and filmmaking techniques with. No other children I have spoken with have the love for birds that you do, Eleanor. Those were meant for the one who I can pass on my preserve and fortune to." Eleanor trembled-her legs buckling, but Brian steadied her.

The young girl took a deep breath and grinned gleefully-the happiest grin Hoffman had ever seen a child in the house give, without it regarding mischief. She knelt down, the knowledge of a new family awaiting her, grabbed up her birdcage; stuffing the photos into the waistband of her dress as Hoffman led them across the foyer, into the reception room, and into his office.

"Hey! What about us!" Xavier and Nicholas charged after the happy, new family.

"So, she intends to leave us, huh. Good, bloody riddance." Diana sneered at the retreating group-the teenager gripping the banister tightly as her fingernails dug into the wood. "Shit...now Meg will be having a sodding high head about this since she'll be promoted. Can't let that happen, can I." Chuckling to herself, the girl in the striped dress pushed away from the banister, took a left and disappeared into the dormitory.

End of Chapter One

Next Chapter: The Interview

Will more children get adopted by this wealthy eccentric? Stay tuned to find out.


	2. The Interview of Eleanor Rigby

Without You I'm Nothing: A Rule of Rose Fanfic

Note: This fanfiction was inspired by not solely Rule of Rose but also the Placebo song Without You I'm Nothing and (from this chapter on) the Beatles' hit Eleanor Rigby. As such I do not own either the songs or Rule of Rose. Atlus, The Beatles and Placebo have those honours.

Author's Note: This shall likely be rife with OOC characterization, since in some cases I did not find that enough characteristics were included to make the girl more than a cliché. I shall do my best to ensure that the portrayal of the girls in this story are respectful and accurate to the original. I do not own anything except for the couple who adopt Eleanor-the Montahagans.

Length/Time Note: This took considerably longer to come out due to the length, and for that I do apologize. Please bear with me for future chapter releases given this fact.

Chapter Two: The Interview of Eleanor Rigby

**Rose Garden Orphanage-Cardington, Bedfordshire, England-March 10, 1930 10:45 a.m.**

A cough. Jennifer halted within feet of exiting the spartan kitchen.

Coupling fleet-footed maneuvers with swift mental faculties capable of ascertaining a suitable hiding spot waxed critical to those residing within the confines of the Rose Garden Orphanage; Jennifer and Wendy's existence at the depressing estate requisite to establish a secure "bunker" wherein the lesbian couple could retreat within and indulge in one another's company without the fear of interruption. Said "bunker" was "their" rose garden-the exquisite patch of satin petals and thorny stems an oasis amidst a desert of debauchery-laden "games" and the cruelty Diana opted to inflict upon the gray dress clad Jennifer.

Establishing a safety net underneath a precarious tightrope births a particular skill set: stealth.

Martha Carol was the fifty-five year old housekeeper, cook and commandant of the Third Reich of cleanliness; said cleanliness having passed Jennifer by in a past life, and once again in her reincarnation into "Filthy Jennifeh", as Diana so crassly dubbed her with a wave of her scepter of antagonistic wordplay. The entirety of the household would decry Martha as possessing tunnel-vision (simplistic to creep by), yet...

"JENNIFER! WENDY! For God's sake, there is a lovely couple adopting Eleanor in the other room. Don't you want them to take you as well?" Kommandant des Mop furiously dragged the loving couple to her cherished possession: the sink; the preteens unable to leave the kitchen until they "Wash the filth from your filthy hands." (Martha's hearing impeccable to construe the conversation in the foyer as involving adoption-Brian Montahagan's voice lacking the "indoor" setting and carrying throughout the house).

_Adopting Eleanor?_ The contrast of elicited reactions drastically differed between the two girls. Jennifer was elated that Eleanor was being adopted; the aloof girl's countenance invariably shifting if she (Eleanor) were to have a family. No longer would she have a reason to be aloof, and partition herself away from society.

Wendy's innate reaction was starkly different from her girlfriend's. She harbored jealousy, resentment towards the aviary aficionado. She did not detest Eleanor whatsoever, but one desiring what another has to such an all consuming degree can birth obsession, and ultimately plotting to take what is being desired in the first place.

Martha Carol was clad in a navy blue, knee length dress, white pinafore and white bonnet; her black, leather, ankle high boots a stark contrast to the, otherwise, reasonably dressed woman. Her wrinkled visage vexed those who wished to possess knowledge of her precise age. Fifty-five was what was listed on her birth certificate (Hoffman having been leery prior to hiring her, in lieu of the mathematical calculations not matching the physical age of the woman applying for the position), but the majority of the surrounding community (William Robertson, Cardington's affable butcher, especially) surmising her to be in her mid to late sixties.

A cough. Jennifer was well versed in every facet of Wendy's malignant affliction; the poor waif unwittingly overhearing Clara utter a fearsome word to Hoffman: bronchitis (the teenage nurse having researched the malady which, while not fatal, did possess the symptoms which the pretty blonde exhibited. Taking upon herself the functional burden of excess research, Jennifer (with immense trepidation) sought out the scholarly Meg; the sadistic blonde's declining to aid Jennifer until the brunette agreed to two months of doing Meg's chores.

Jennifer agreed, and thusly received Meg's aid in researching the malady known as bronchitis. Learning all of the known symptoms, the precautions to take in case of a flare up and what an "antibiotic" was, Jennifer was equipped to contend with Wendy's illness should she be the sole individual in the vicinity to care for her beloved.

"Oh dear..." Martha did not possess a plethora of innate doting affection for the children, save for Clara (solely out of pity for her plight), yet she was no monster incapable of human emotion towards an ill child; the aging housekeeper scuttling to put the kettle on (instructing Jennifer to take Wendy to the sick bay-the woman stating that she would bring a cup of tea to the child when it was ready).

Jennifer lowered her hand to Wendy's-the blonde discretely interlocking her fingers with her girlfriend's as the brunette led her out of the kitchen. Martha was none the wiser of this minuscule display of trust and affection.

"Jennifer, wait." Wendy's meek, demur utterance was barely audible-a pallor surfacing upon her attractive visage (wheezing as she gently squeezed Jennifer's hand-halting outside of the kitchen)-Jennifer halting from moving further than the exterior doorway of the kitchen. "Take me to that couple adopting Eleanor." Jennifer's formation of an argumentative retort, to this highly irresponsible request, was dismissed by Wendy's soft lips on her own. "[Broke the kiss] It won't take long, darling. [Strokes Jennifer's short, boyish hair-love in both girls' eyes] Please...[That love turned to pleading] For me." Jennifer nodded reluctantly-her girlfriend's health a far more pressing matter to her than conveying a fervency for adoption to strangers (a fact that may, indeed, have led to no adoption for either girl).

"Ten minutes, and then we go to the sick bay." Jennifer was firm with the infection-laden maiden; she was never firm with her beloved. Such was her Achilles heel-patience, long suffering-yet...

If one becomes a doormat, then long suffering towards others becomes, simply put, torment for the one possessing such a trait.

"_She is suggesting it because she loves you. Nothing more, Wendy. Nothing more." _Wendy's inner coaxing waxed languishing of her mental faculties; the momentary meditation, however, serving its purpose and calming her nerves. Contrary to the facade her incredibly pretty (for an eleven year old) face presented, Wendy received a tragically minuscule amount of sleep during the night-her bronchitis inciting hacking fits which kept her up until three in the morning. Clara, ever the stalwartly faithful nurse, remained by her side (a vastly more effective companion during those painful spells than the more preferred Jennifer). As such, the late hours she kept were taking a toll on the resident nurse's own health-the spindly sixteen year old beginning to regularly babble about "mermaids" (ala Hans Christian Anderson since Wendy's consistent care was deemed requisite).

Hand-in-hand, Jennifer and Wendy crept to the reception room door, and gently opened it-the lovestruck duo warily edging their way into the lavish, comfortable sitting area (Hoffman's office door wide open, with Nicholas and Xavier standing in the doorway (their backs to the approaching girls)-Jennifer and Wendy carefully creeping towards the open door, but halting just to the left of a five and a half foot tall bookcase by the window. They could hear every word uttered.

Hoffman's office was more akin to a bedroom than an office-a full sized bed bound in a white, satin blanket situated just to the right of the doorway in the hunter green wallpapered room as the Montahagans, Hoffman, Eleanor, Xavier and Nicholas entered the room. An oaken desk, neatly topped in meticulously kept piles of papers was directly across from the bed (in front of a quad-paned window with the curtains open); a small, electric lamp sat on the left of the desk. It appeared to be suitably sizable enough for two individuals to peruse documents sitting at or standing by it comfortably.

"Please, have a seat. [Hoffman's right hand motioned to the edge of the bed] I keep the children's records within my desk, so do be patient for a few moments." The elderly fellow smiled placidly-the Montahagans and (for a drastic change to the members of the household) Eleanor (the girl seemingly not wishing to leave her future parents' sides) plopped onto the edge of the bed while Xavier and Nicholas remained by the doorway. Xavier crossed his arms and huffed [the bubblegum Delores had given he and Nicholas swishing about in each boy's mouth]-Nicholas picking his nose and flicking the booger obtained at the wall.

"[Hoffman had a seat in HIS chair at HIS desk] Now, Mister Montahagan [Opened the bottom most drawer of his desk and extracted three, hefty folders-struggling to lift them, but with a grunt plopping the stack of documents before him on the desk], did you and your wife wish to adopt only Eleanor or did you want to take the boys [Selects a black, with tan feathers pen from a small cup at the back of his desk and points behind him with the feathered end] as well?" Hoffman chuckled as he delved within the confines of his filthy mind and imagined an orphanage without Nicholas and Xavier's consistent dueling about the house.

Brian and Delores' momentary exchange at the query posed one, sole bit of doubt to birth within Hoffman: were these people even remotely prepared when they came here, or is this an "on the whim" decision?

"We'd come wit tha intent to adopt just one kid. Better to grow up an only child, with loving parents to dote on you, then to be the parent o' six kids n' never give any o' em equal attention. Know whatta mean, Mister Hoffman?" Hoffman was...stunned. That was the most responsible and loving statement he had ever heard in his twenty years of operating the Rose Garden Orphanage uttered by anyone. Most had flippantly uttered some semblance of "I want a kid, savvy? Gonna train this kid up proper like, innit.", but never had he heard ANY statement such as this from a grown man before; let alone an American of all people. The elderly man could by smile with absolute, genuine glee at that statement; maybe there was hope for the world after all.

"HOWEVER, Mister Hoffman," Hoffman felt a knot envelope his gullet-his fist clenching around the pen within his grasp. "we have the ability t' support about five kids and give each an' erry one the love they so richly deserve, so we would be glad to adopt Xavier and Nicholas theh." Brian turned his head, grinned at the boys and gave them a thumbs up; Xavier and Nicholas high-iving one another before taking deep breaths and charging Brian with a "Papa! Mamma!" from Xavier and "Daddy! Mummy!" from Nicholas , hugging him and kissing her (the armful of boys too much for Eleanor-the stoic girl having moved away from her new "brothers", shooting them a "you two had better knock it off" death glare; the boys catching it and calmly ceasing their roughhousing).

"[Hoffman cleared his throat] I shall leave the three children you have selected's files right there [Brian depositing the boys beside him on the floor], so take all of the time that you feel is necessary to make your final decision." [Hoffman rose from his chair, replaced his pen within the cup from whence it came, and motioned for Brian to have a seat in his stead] "I shall be [Yawns-bends his entire body backwards, his shoulders popping] right out in the reception room resting should you need anything." [Hoffman thumbed directly towards the room they crossed through to reach his office-the pedophile exiting the room].

Hoffman yawned as he exited his office-the plush sofa in the middle of the room before him the most wondrous sight he had cast his eyes on since his own bed the night before. He was passing the point of being able to continue with continuous, nightly trysts-his partner being not even a third of his age did not aid matters for him whatsoever. Despite his stiffness, and receiving naught but five hours of sleep the night before (at his age eight was an absolute minimum), he found it utterly worth it to engage in lascivious behaviour with his sixteen year old nurse.

Crossing the room, Hoffman cupped his face-his aged forefingers rubbing his weary eyes (he never once witnessing the preteen lovers stealthily edge their way into his office as he collapsed onto the sofa, and fell asleep within two minutes.

The creaky floorboards just within the entrance to Hoffman's office sagged and moaned-announcing Wendy and Jennifer's arrival.

Brian had risen from the edge of the bed, and occupied Hoffman's offered seat; Eleanor's file on top of the three presented and begging him to unwind the twine when he turned his head to regard the new arrivals.

"[Brian smiled warmly at the pretty blonde and adorable brunette standing before him] How's it going, kiddos? You gotta excuse me, but I'm in the middle of adopting these three. [Points over his shoulder at the trio of orphans discretely bowing to Wendy-displaying indifference towards Jennifer]" Jennifer hung her shoulders (disappointment precisely what she had been expecting from meeting this family-Wendy's insistence assuredly to put her health more at risk, and the one fragment of hope Jennifer held onto was gone). The brunette nodded at Brian's response-her hand clasped about her girlfriend's as she began leading her from the room.

Brian's heart broke at the sight of the devastated child . He adored children; wished to be a father since his teenage years after his own father had been wonderful to he and his two, younger sisters and surmised that a substantially sized family would be in the cards. Even knowing that one child was unhappy was akin to the stock market plummeting (his heart nosediving into his gullet).

"Wait!" [Jennifer halted in the doorway-Brian rising from the chair and dashing for the door (Eleanor looking on with a considerably different outlook than before-secure in the knowledge that a family was hers she empathized for her fellow orphans who were not going to be leaving with the Montahagans that day). "Look, me and the wife're well off enough to afford to take care o' five kids so won't ya two just come in n' we can talk to ya? [Rubs the back of his head-the handsome, mustached American in the derby smiled, ushering the couple inside]" Jennifer's heart cartwheeled in her chest; Wendy's grinning visage mirroring the joy within her girlfriend's heart (the girls calmly entering the room and having a seat on the bed-Eleanor, in a stark contrast to her usual, stoic, detached persona smiled at Jennifer and gave her a thumbs up).

Was this strange speaking, well dressed American a sorcerer who worked magic over Eleanor? The possibility did not escape Jennifer, since only magic could alter the personality of the most apathetic girl she had ever met.

Delores had plopped down in Hoffman's chair while Brian spoke with the girls. The New Jersey native was wholly used to perusing documents, filing folders, typing out forms-the clerical work as her husband's secretary, when they were filming in Hollywood's MGM Studios' backlot, a secondary reflex developed over a decade of indoctrination.

Eleanor rose from the bed (Albert's cage in hand), waving to Jennifer and Wendy, and joined her "mother" at Hoffman's desk (Brian plopping onto the bed-taking Eleanor's former spot).

Delores' accent waxed thick and alien to the children. Cockney was certainly a variant of English they were accustomed to-the sweet, baker's wife in Cardington speaking as an individual who never received a cultured upbringing, or (possibly) an education beyond the eighth grade but she was a pleasant, warm, caring woman who gave the children sticky buns whenever they were permitted to go into town. What Delores spoke was certainly not Cockney, but she reminded Eleanor a great deal of the baker's wife in personality-this causing the aviary aficionado to feel more affection for the sweet, spindly woman beside of her than she had for any female since her mother passed away in the tragic carriage accident which could have taken her life as well had her father not thrown her from it into a passing pond. It was not deep, and it saved her life. She had been thrown from the carriage twenty seconds before it collided with an oncoming delivery truck-her parents passing on impact as the carriage shattered into pieces and the horse barely surviving the impact.

God smiled down on her and was giving her a chance to redeem those lost five years with a family. She could become a "normal" twelve year old girl, and detach herself from the cynical wench she had evolved into since age seven. Delores gazed up at the bird lover-Albert in his cage at her feet-who was patiently awaiting any questions that the Jersey native may have had regarding the file.

Eleanor's file was thick-thicker than the two boys' beneath it. Delores surmised that, based on the weight, and the fact that Eleanor was the oldest child (of those who announced their ages) in the room she very well could have been at that orphanage since she was a small girl. Then again, she could have been completely incorrect and the weight on the file had nothing to do with the length of time her daughter had been an orphan.

Eleanor's file, unbound, popped open (her biographical information, complete with a recent picture on the top of what had to be two hundred papers).

Delores peeled Eleanor's biographical sheet from the stack, motioning for Brian to join her (her husband joining the two while Eleanor read along with them; Wendy and Jennifer enjoying the silence, for a change, chatting quietly on the bed while Xavier extracted a small, rubber ball and some jacks from his pocket and invited Nicholas to play).

PRIVATE INFORMATION-OFFICE USE ONLY:

NAME: Eleanor Anne Rigby

DATE OF BIRTH: September 3, 1917

BIRTHPLACE: Kent & Canterbury Hospital, Canterbury, Kent, England

PARENTS: Stewart Charles Rigby (Deceased); Marie Louise Rigby (Deceased)

As Delores perused Eleanor's biographical information, the girl's date of birth stunned her. Eleanor did not appear to be verging on thirteen years old; passing for ten or eleven perhaps but thirteen...

A business card was clipped to the file:

Dr. Alfred George (Pediatrician)

Northwood Road  
Broadstairs  
Kent

01227 767700

That was essential if Delores was to know if the girl at her side possessed any sort of health dilemmas or if she merely was born slender.

"I have always been skinny, mum." Eleanor's sudden monotone thrust Delores from her reverie-Brian startled as well. "Doctor George examines me twice a year. Mister Hoffman says that he doesn't have the equipment to do more than a simple examination. I am perfectly healthy, and never ill. [The twelve year old beamed]" Delores took note of this development-extracting the plumed pen from the ceramic cup stamped with a fleur de lis and jotted down "picture of health".

A packet of Eleanor's schoolwork was meticulously, anal retentively joined by a metre long length of twine separate from her biographical record; the rough hemp fibre securely fastening the documents together in the event that a family would actually show interest in Eleanor; Hoffman the perfect documenter: forethought and careful organization clear and apparent (Delores impressed at the elderly man's neat and tidy keeping of records). Unbinding the twine took great effort, but it was nothing Brian's pocketed switchblade could not remedy.

Eleanor had never passed a glance over the packet before her, but knew she had nothing to fear, until the Montahagans got to her "disciplinary" section-Eleanor gulping nervously at the thought of "thief" or "kleptomaniac" tarnishing their view of the slender girl.

As Delores leafed through the packet, and Brian's eye scanned it while standing over her the duo came to two, completely different conclusions:

Delores' keen eye for the minutest of details in the schoolwork performance by the middle schooler informed her that the middle schooler could be a latent genius; her marks displaying nothing below an "A-" or, in the instances of the mathematical, a "92%".

Brian's prediction was immensely less flattering, but possessed the potential to be a far greater asset to the petite preteen if he was correct: she had a naturally occurring work ethic (willing to input the extra time and energy to receive the marks laid out before them on the lecherous pedophile's oaken desk.

Whichever the case invariably surfaced to be correct, the Montahagans were proud of the child, and each hugged her in congratulatory praise.

"Honey, you are magnificent wit' your schoolwork and we couldn't ask for more from you." Brian beamed at the child-Eleanor, indeed, being incredibly bright (just behind Meg, at number two, in their class' grades), but she was no genius. She studied for each and every test that was given, spent hour after hour writing assigned essays when other children were shirking their studies, and while she did not have the innate, photographic memory that Meg had, Brian's assessment was partially correct: she was a hard worker and earned each and every one of those A's.

Diana was lucky she was not set to be adopted that day-the wicked fourteen year old having the third lowest marks in the class behind Olivia and Nicholas. Diana felt that schoolwork was beneath her, and that she as an "artist" did not need mathematics or English lessons to make it in life despite Eleanor and Meg both attempting to instill in her that she needed a backup plan in case things went (as Eleanor put it) "tits up". Strangely enough, as much as he put on a show of not caring about his work, Xavier was a straight "B" student-Eleanor always chocking it up to him cheating somehow and not genuine studying on his part.

Brian's eyes flitted to the bird in the gilded cage: Eleanor's prized possession and loyal companion. "Dear, would'ya mind if I look'it your bird there?" Eleanor would have given a "hell no" or simply flipped off anyone else who asked, but this was her father-a man who did not have to adopt her, but he saw much of a future in her, and for that, for all of the kindness he had shown her she bent down and bequeathed to him her finch; the other children catching sight of this and freezing in time, as though this mere act necessitating a memorial all of its own.

Brian did not open the cage when he took it-merely holding it to eye level and observing the gorgeous, red creature within (Albert hopping about on his perch paying him no mind).

"Gorgeous creature, Eleanor [Brian's eye filled with joy, as they always did when in the presence of a fowl]. It looks like it's from the family..." Brian felt himself about to go on another, long winded diatribe, if not for Eleanor interrupting.

"Fringillidae. Albert is a finch belonging to the family Fringillidae. Technically, he is of the same family, but a rare variant that Charles Darwin studied on the Galapagos Islands. [Raised her left hand, and Brian lowered the cage-the girl stroking Albert's soft plumage through the bars] Mother gave him to me before she passed away. He's all I have left of my previous life." Delores gripped the girl's right hand and gently squeezed. "That was five years ago, and I have moved on. We all have to when troubling situations come along."

"Eleanor knows her birds." Xavier's chiming in brought said girl's eyes directly onto his rotund form-the boy not looking up from his game of jacks that he was currently losing. "It's not a bad thing. She's going to be a famous scientist or something one day. Me and Nich here would look for here and for three months straight she would be reading up on the latest bird that she took a picture of, in the library with Meg. [Looked up from his game and met Eleanor's eyes] Honestly, I don't know how you stomached working with her. You're actually nice, and she...I won't say it. Some words should not be said in the presence of a girl...ummm lady." Xavier bowed slightly; his change in demeanor off-putting to the aviary enthusiast (her left eyebrow raising-not trusting this "new" Xavier to be genuine for a second).

"Pictures? You take pictures too, sweety?" Eleanor trusted Brian not to harm her bird-not reaching for the cage as she nodded. "Would you mind showing them to me?" Eleanor had planned on doing just that when all was said and done, she all packed up and free to leave the dreadful orphanage, but if he wished to see them now she would oblige.

"If you do not mind, please hand Albert to me. I will take you to my collection." Brian had no reason to hold onto the cage longer than he had, and gently handed over the gilded container to his new daughter; Eleanor reaching for his hand and leading Brian from the office (her patent leather shoes clicking against the wooden floor as she stepped around Xavier and Nicholas' game-Xavier uttering a "They're very good" to the retreating Montahagan).

"Hey, yuh, Delores. [Delores looked up to meet her love's gaze] Get the rest of theyuh kids' names and look through their files. I'll be back in a few minutes." Delores smiled and obeyed her husband, turning around and asking the lesbian couple their names.

Wendy and Jennifer edged their way off of the bed, and around to stand before the pretty Jersey native side by side.

"[Curtseyed] My name is Wendy Scarlet Ambrosia. I am eleven years old and was born in London. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." The prim and proper greeting seemed akin to Nicholas and Xavier's: scripted, practiced and drilled.

Jennifer was next up.

"[Curtseyed] My name is Jennifer, and I can't recall my last name or place of birth. My parents passed away six months ago in an airship accident..." Wendy "shhh"d her lover-putting her right arm around her for comfort (it serving its purpose and calmed the girl down ever so slightly). Xavier and Nicholas had never bothered to get to know Jennifer-the "new girl" syndrome never ceasing to pass from her, and they were not about to stick their necks out on the part of friendship (they having had each other ever since both sets of their parents passed and that is all they needed even after arriving at the Rose Garden). "Please adopt my [Ponders for the word momentarily] my Wendy and I." A cute smile was offered, and luckily she was adorable and Delores as much a lover of children as her husband.

Delores grew up in Paterson, New Jersey into a working class family; her father a steel worker (working sporadic shifts riveting girders together for the next highrise project that some billionaire tycoon was sponsoring) and her mother a school teacher (HER school teacher). She grew into a woman bearing a hard work ethic, a solid foundation of morals, decency and common sense. She was grounded and did not find herself as superior to anyone; even after marrying her multimillionaire husband.

She graduated from Rutgers University with a Bachelor's Degree in business at twenty-two, and after sending her resume across the country (to whomever would take it) she landed a position with Montahagan and Lewis-the second most successful banking firm in the nation at the time with two generations of Montahagan having operated the firm-as Gerald Montahagan's (the second generation owner) secretary. It took precisely two weeks before she met Gerald's twenty-four year old son Brian and was immediately smitten by his good looks and kind demeanor; not carrying himself as one who came from fortune.

He asked HER to dinner, and six months later he proposed to her. A year and a half later they were married-Brian not wishing to follow his father's footsteps into the banking business so the birthright of "owner" fell to his younger sister, Madeline. Gerald Montahagan was disappointed by his son's decision, but loved him all the same and gave him his share of the family's stock, bonds and fortune (totaling twenty-two million, four hundred and seventy-five thousand, one hundred and nine dollars and eight cents).

Having grown up in Boston, the Montahagan's base of operations, he felt it proper to stay near family, but opted to purchase a three story, eighteen room mansion on the edge of town; away from the noise of the city, but close enough that he could have anything he needed at a moment's notice.

Delores opened Hoffman's bottom drawer and rifled through the files until she found both of their files-Wendy's being considerably thicker than Jennifer's but both went onto the stack and the drawer re-closed.

Opening Jennifer's file, in an effort to cheer her up, she discovered a lacking collection of biographical information (save for a newspaper clipping speaking of said airship accident):

Donald and Loraine Smith, the millionaire family from London, died in a tragic airship accident when the engine caught fire. Their only daughter, Jennifer, survives them.

Delores cupped her mouth in horror-the knowledge that the child standing before her (ten years old she discovered, after a glance at the child's birth certificate) had no memory of who she was, her last name or that she could be living very lavishly at that moment broke her heart. Delores reached over and hugged the child-Wendy brought into the embrace as well.

"You two ain't got'a 'thing t' worry about. [Releases the hug-Jennifer and Wendy both patting the woman's back] We came here to adopt, but that doesn' meant we're going to JUST adopt Eleanor." The warm, kind woman before the couple birthed polar opposite reactions from Wendy and her love.

Jennifer reveled in the knowledge that, in the subtext of what the woman was suggesting, they were to be adopted along with Eleanor, Xavier and Nicholas. She would have a home, and perhaps a doctor could help her remember who she was-if the woman before her failed in that endeavor.

Wendy was...conflicted. Her go-to reaction of jealousy of someone else hugging HER Jennifer was gone-replaced with as much desire for a permanent home as her darling. Barriers long constructed, defense mechanisms designed to empower her and keep those unwanted out were crumbling, and the wonderful woman before her was seeping into her with her doting affection for children. She reminded her of her own mother, and missed that love that she had not experienced in three years, since both of her parents passed in a horrific mugging. The mugger had snatched her mother's purse, and her father had fought with the criminal attempting to get it back but was stabbed repeatedly. Her mother had her throat slit and bled out. If Wendy had not hid inside of a trash can during the commotion she would have been dead also.

Then again, those barriers had served her well to establish the Rule of Rose-though under false pretenses (lies) about Stray Dog coming and devouring those who would get in his way. Stray Dog did not actually exist in the form she conveyed, but was instead a neighbor to the orphanage named Gregory Wilson: a pea farmer whose son had died in a tragic swing accident after swinging too high, the rope breaking and he being impaled on the family homestead's picket fence. Gregory Wilson was a child murderer and cannibal-Wendy's stories holding water but not in the sense of Stray Dog's true identity. It was because of him that Wendy met the petite ten year old she fell in love with, and a kick to her conscience birthing a plan within her ingenious mind of measures to take in case this DID actually work, and she DID leave with the Montahagans that day, or the next.

"Sweeties, my name is Delores. I am from New Jersey." Her smiling inquiry broke Wendy from her reverie-her attention fully on the strange woman. "Do you know where that is?" Wendy was FAR from being just a pretty face, and even further than being merely a devious mastermind. She was third in her class behind Meg and Eleanor-unlike Eleanor, Wendy had a photographic memory, and could retain knowledge like a sponge. The reason she was not higher on the rankings had to do with her constant illnesses, and the lack of energy to retake tests in a timely manner, thus making it more difficult for her to catch up with the other students. Still, third in her class was acceptable. She knew where New Jersey was located, the capital of it and the population therein.

She loved her girlfriend with all of her heart, however, and despite Jennifer being sixth in the class she wanted her darling to look good to the woman's assessment and said nothing in reply to the question-simply shaking her head as an answer.

Jennifer pondered for a moment.

"It's, uh, it's on the northern east corner of the United States and is called "The Garden State"." Jennifer beamed widely-her recalling that tidbit from her Geography class making Wendy so proud of her (the blonde squeezing her girlfriend's shoulder affectionately).

"Hey, nice going Jennifer!" Xavier grinned widely, as he turned and gave his possible, new sister a thumbs up. "I knew that those makeup tests would do you some good." Wendy turned her head and leered at the pudgy boy. "Hey! I'm just kidding! Jeez..." Turning back to his game with Nicholas, Xavier found himself winning the next few turns.

Delores shook her head at the childish antics before her; being the oldest of five siblings, she knew all too well what sort of nonsense could go on between those of opposite genders (her two, younger brothers finding it humorous to lock her younger sister out of the house on more than one occasion). Delores did not find it amusing whatsoever and, being six years older than her two, twin brothers, punished them as though she were an adult and grounded them for three weeks.

The Jersey native continued perusing Jennifer's file as she spoke with the girls; finding that the girl was an average student (obviously trying her best but she simply did not test well, and therefore made low "B"s to high "C"s-this putting her one rank below Xavier on the academic hierarchy). Delores could relate to Jennifer's plight-being an average student until she reached high school when her brain just seemed to switch over into a form of savant and she began making "A"s herself.

There was not much to Jennifer's file (she having not been at the orphanage long enough to amass many grades under Hoffman's tutelage; the majority of the work seeming to have been mailed to Hoffman from Jennifer's previous schools since none of the paper stock felt the same as those on the very top of the stack. Delores was done with the file in ten minutes; Wendy and Jennifer rattling off facts about themselves in the meantime.

One that kept coming up was something called "Brown" that Delores had no idea of what, or who, it was.

"Jennifer, what's t'is "Brown" you keep going on about?" Wendy was dreading this; Delores likely to take Jennifer's side in the matter, and the girl be allowed to bring "it" with her (Wendy not doubting, by this point, that she and Jennifer were going to be adopted).

Delores had moved onto Wendy's file, and noted her biographical information while Jennifer explained that "Brown" was her puppy she had found one day and kept out in the shed down the hill.

Delores paused reading over Wendy's file momentarily and fixated her gaze on the the brunette fifth grader.

"Why don't y' bring 'em to the house?" The puzzling situation seemed to get more entwined-the Jersey native continuing to read Wendy's file.

PRIVATE INFORMATION-OFFICE USE ONLY:

NAME: Wendy Scarlet Ambrosia

DATE OF BIRTH: May 8, 1919

BIRTHPLACE: St. Bartholomew's Hospital, London, England

PARENTS: Frances Paul Ambrosia (Deceased); Greta Ingrid Ambrosia (Deceased)

Strangely, as Delores poured over Wendy's biographical information she noted that Doctor George was also Wendy's pediatrician. That would make acquiring the information of Wendy's health status loads easier for her and Brian.

"I have bronchitis, mum." Wendy was no fool, and was aware that perusing her file would entail discovering certain health ailments. She opted to save her the trouble. "Mister Hoffman [Coughs] tells me that without antibiotics there is nothing he can really do except treat me as though I have a cold since he doesn't have enough money to afford Doctor George's antibiotic prices. [Rolls eyes] It's always something to that effect when my health is concerned. It's always an excuse and usually means that he's drinking the money away." Delores made a note of this on Wendy's biographical sheet-Brian and she could take Wendy to Doctor George later.

"Honey, me an' the hubby'll take you to Doctor George an' get you the necessary antibiotics. Don't you worry." Wendy smiled widely at that sentiment-someone TRULY caring about her health instead of an excuse laid out in the form of sincerity.

"Jennifer, you never did tell me why y' don' just bring y' dog inside, or why Eleanor never mentioned 'im." Jennifer shuffled her feet-the young girl taking a deep breath and Wendy knew that the same story she had told to her months before was about to spill out; Delores leafing through Wendy's lengthy school record and noting that she did make predominately "A"s and "B"s.

"_Bright girls we have here."_ Delores mused-Jennifer hesitating, but finally coming forth with an explanation.

"I don't want anyone to take him, or hurt him." It was simple, but true as far as Jennifer was concerned. Wendy knew better, but Jennifer's fragmented, tormented mind only told her what made sense to her. It did NOT always speak the truth and often created fanciful answers to otherwise simplistic situations.

At the final page of Wendy's school report, Delores gave a thumbs up to the blonde girl-the child beaming with the praise. Shutting the file for the time being, going over the disciplinary section at a later date, Delores stood up.

"Let's go meet Brown, Jennifer." Wendy was pleased with this turn of events, but Jennifer pressed her forefinger tips together and reluctantly agreed.

Wendy despised Jennifer's going on about Brown, but if someone else seeing him could shake some sense into her lover she was willing to indulge this exercise.

"Boys, we're goin' t' see a puppy. Come with us." Xavier shrugged, picked up the rubber ball and his winnings of the jacks and (he and Nicholas made up their own rules to the game), got up (Nicholas lazily getting to his feet) and waited as Jennifer nervously made her way from the office.

Eleanor, hand-in-hand with her new father, led him upstairs to the dormitory; she eager to please him with her photographic prowess resume. It took all of two minutes to reach the dormitory, but it was not unoccupied as Eleanor had hoped it would be.

"Shit..." The middle schooler swore between gritted teeth; the spindly girl and her father halting in the doorway.

There was Diana...or so Eleanor surmised, across the room (maybe sixty feet away) on her bed. It looked to be Diana, but the behaviour was very un-"Diana". Eleanor had never witnessed the wicked girl write in anything save for signing her name on her own artwork, but she appeared to have an open notebook on her lap writing. What, Eleanor did not have the slightest idea nor did she care to delve into the twisted mind of Diana's by finding out.

"You don't have to just stand there, you know." The auburn-haired beauty had her back turned to the father-daughter pair, so how did she...

"I can smell you from all the way over here. So, if you need something get it. I'm busy." The "Duchess" continued writing whatever it was in her notebook without standing or being antagonistic in the slightest. It was the single most bizarre thing Eleanor had ever witnessed Diana do, and that was counting the "Strong-Willed Princess" attempt to create a doll, in Meg's likeness, using string and clay; expecting it to look even remotely like the girl, and getting frustrated when it didn't.

"Sure. Alright. [Motions with her head towards her own bunk-the opposite direction of Diana] I'm over here. Might as well get my things together while I'm up here, so as to not waste any time later." The seventh grader smiled sincerely-she having forethought of what might happen impressing Brian (the Bostonian smiling, patting her shoulder gently; the girl leading him by the hand to her bunk).

Eleanor placed Albert's cage onto the floor beside of her bed, then knelt down beneath her bunk and withdrew a worn, leather suitcase, two cardboard boxes and a small picture frame containing a photo of an albatross.

"I took this when Mister Hoffman took us to the zoo last spring." The young girl affectionately stroked the picture with her slender, left middle finger. "It is the finest photograph I ever took." The kindhearted girl handed her father the picture frame and he was amazed. His new daughter had the potential to make a living off of photography-the skill of taking a photo of an albatross, in flight, difficult for even himself but this young girl pulled it off.

"This is excellent, doll." Brian patted her head approvingly, and calmly took a seat on the edge of her bed; Eleanor walking to the other side of Brian, and reaching underneath her pillow to extract a thick envelope. Pulling it out, Diana swore from across the room; furiously scribbling across whatever it was she was writing.

"Here are the ones I took on my...the balcony down the hall. They are not as good as the one taken at the zoo, but I think they could still be printed in a magazine; if I were able to get hold of a publisher." Eleanor smiled with pride, and rightfully so. Brian took the thick, brown envelope from her, and emptied out the contents onto the bed beside of him. Within were photos that he could have taken, and he had been dabbling in photography for twenty years.

"Honey [His eyes bulged out of his head in astonishment] these are amazing!" From one simply of Albert in his cage-the detail and care taken by Eleanor to capture the beauty of her companion exquisite (displaying a true "eye" for how to conduct a proper photography session). "How long [Leafs through to the next photo, a wren-likely taken from the aforementioned balcony] have y' been takin' photos, deh?" His Bostonian accent gargled the words as they were uttered-Eleanor, however, having the answer without a second thought.

"I was five when I began taking pictures. My daddy gave me a camera for my fifth birthday. He was a...wonderful man, and an equally wonderful photographer. He was famous around all of England, and even won awards." Brian slapped his forehead at not recognizing the name before. Stewart Charles Rigby. THE Stewart Charles Rigby-published in every magazine he had been, and a known connoisseur of aviary photography. Won the "Photographer of the Year" in 1920, 1921, 1922 and so forth until the year he passed away; where he probably would have won the award then as well. HIS daughter was standing before him.

"Eleanor, sweety, I knew of y' father." Brian was not fabricating anything whatsoever-he being versed in the "who's who" of photography, and Stewart Rigby's name nary far from the lips of his peers regarding the "go to bird guy".

The former orphan's eyes lit up; she not expecting her father to have bore such an impact upon the global, photographic community. What else did she not know about her father? Did she not know that her father was famous in regions besides Great Britain?

"[Put the photos back onto the bed beside of him] Sweety, your old man was one'a the greatest photographers I had ev'r seen published in my lifetime. He'd a' been proud'a you. You got his eye for the lens." Brian's grin was infectious; Eleanor, once again, beaming with pride at the praise whilst subsequently cherishing the connection with her father. Was photography prowess an innate skill one could pass along in a bloodline?

The girl's musings were interrupted by Diana...singing.

"[Dread filled the aviary lover's visage-her father completely oblivious to any source of anxiety] Bollocks. [Prayed to whichever god or goddess would hearken to her small voice] Don't come over here. Please don't let her come over here." Diana did not; the auburn quaffed menace not wavering from her position on her bed.

Eleanor was...relieved; the last thing she needed was for Diana to pursue conversation with Brian Montahagan, and feasibly become her [ugh] sister. Eleanor truly loathed the girl for all of the agony she brought upon not solely Eleanor, but the orphan population at large.

The previous week Albert had been "abducted" by "aliens"; these "aliens" being Diana and her doormat...Meg in bedsheets and Christmas lights strung about them at three in the morning. It scared the shit out of the entire dormitory; their desired effect all too potent. Eleanor discovered her, then, terrified aviary in the boy's lavatory; rather, Xavier discovered him, and Eleanor threatened bodily harm upon the rotund boy if he ever touched her bird again (Xavier laughed it off as Eleanor being Eleanor, stating that he was only returning to her what was hers and he had not taken the fowl in the first place).

Eleanor was no fool, and was completely aware of who took Albert. From then on, the bird never left her sight. Even when she showered, she hung Albert just out of reach of the steady stream of water, but equally out of reach of anyone who wished to obtain him without first being in her line of sight.

"_Fuck Diana. Bloody harlot."_ Eleanor Rigby was not prone to vulgarity often-opting for a rude gesture or a disdainful glare to serve her purposes, but when it came to Diana Killarny she minced no words and regarded her with the utmost of unbridled hate. She knew full well that her bandaged thigh was a self inflicted injury to provoke Hoffman to bandage it; Eleanor surmised that any fondling or lustful gazes brought on by the act were her own doing and not any of the "bird queen"s concern. There were few individuals in the world to bring upon Eleanor's ire enough where their well being was fully, apathetically disregarded (more than her usual indifference) and Diana fell into that category.

If Diana were found out to be exactly what Eleanor knew her to be, and not the sultry maneater she portrayed herself as then Meg would be overjoyed, Diana humiliated and Eleanor getting the last laugh.

That is, IF Eleanor were actively vindictive; something she was not.

"[Diana's muttered singing birthed Brian's attention-the soprano's legitimately competent ability to carry a tune one of her very minute positive traits (the annual Christmas cantata's role of "lead vocalist" defaultly going to Diana]

"I'm unclean, a libertine  
And every time you vent your spleen,  
I seem to lose the power of speech,  
Your slipping slowly from my reach.  
You grow me like an evergreen,  
You never see the lonely me at all"

Diana's melodic voice unintentionally encompassed the entirety of the room with its increased volume-the girl suddenly stopping her musical meandering and, with a contented "hmmm" and a nod continued to the next stanza of what Eleanor assumed was a song.

She was aware that Diana wrote lyrics-the siren never shutting up about her "lofty musical future as a musical artist" (Eleanor despising her all the more for her aggravating, nigh endless flights of irrational fancy).

Fixating her attention on something positive, Eleanor began rifling through her cardboard boxes; one containing her winter apparel and the other clothing to be worn year round (the girl wishing there was a way that she could lob something at Diana without the obvious, vengeful repercussions inevitably following after). Ceasing her rifling, Eleanor grasped her worn, leather suitcase and dialed the code requisite on the combination lock she had placed across the clasp beneath the handle. Without the code, nobody could open her suitcase-save with a pair of bolt cutters and there were no bolt cutters in the entire orphanage.

She had created the code herself; Hoffman giving the children the option of a padlock or a combination lock whereby to keep their belongings safe should they need them. She opted for the combination lock (not trusting the other orphans NOT to steal her key if she had a padlock).

"6, 12, 24." She muttered-Brian scarcely hearing her. Eleanor looked up at him expecting a query of the choice of numbers. "FLY. It is all I wanted to do from this orphanage, and now that I can it still rings as appropriate." Smiling serenely at her new "Daddy", Eleanor removed the lock and threw open her suitcase; promptly stuffing the empty case full of her year round clothes.

Brian slid off of the bed, and put a hand atop of her forearm-Eleanor ceasing her packing.

"We'll get y' some new clothes, honey. No need f' those old things." The tenderhearted Bostonian kissed the side of her head; Eleanor frozen in mid-pack (not knowing at all how to react to that). Sure, she knew that Brian was a wonderful, generous and open man but she did not expect THIS level of generosity to come forth for her. Patting her shoulder, Brian caught a low whisper emanating from his new daughter.

"Whazzat, sweety?" Gazing down at Eleanor, a trickle of tears were clearly detectable-staining the wooden floor beneath her.

Concern washed over the American-his arms gently going about his daughter.

"[Eleanor repeated what she had uttered, only this time louder] I said..."Thank you, Papa"." Though Brian had stated she did not need to keep all of her old clothing, Eleanor was thrifty and opted to keep two sets of clothes from each season-underthings to go along with her sundresses and stockings. Eleanor was elated by her new father, loving this man more and more by the moment.

Diana had, miraculously, not flinched from writing...whatever song she was writing-the wicked girl, fortunately for the father and daughter, so engrossed in her writing that it was all that she cared about.

"_What to do with all of my old clothes?"_ Eleanor mused-then it hit her. _"Susan. She may complain, but she's nice enough and at least appreciates intellectual pursuits. [Pondered further] Maybe Meg could grow into some of my coats. That girl nearly froze during that last blizzard. Damn stubborn child." _

Eleanor stood and regarded the cardboard boxes containing the majority of her clothing. Her OLD life was scattered between those boxes, and she wished to keep it that way. All she was taking with her was contained in the medium-sized suitcase in her hand and in the arms of Brian Montahagan: two sundresses, four pairs of underthings, four pairs of stockings, two coats, one scarf and mittens. Those were all the clothing she was taking aside from that which she was wearing. All that remained from the orphanage that she opted to take were the pictures she had personally taken-the dozen, or so, photographs neatly replaced back into the brown envelope (the albatross photo tucked under Eleanor's arm). Albert's cage gently occupied her left hand-the bird never leaving her life until it breathed its last breath.

With one, final gaze Eleanor took in the dormitory she had slept in for the past five years. The same, dull, lifeless hues of brown were still the same dull, lifeless hues of brown, and Diana...well t' hell with her and her debauchery. Eleanor did not care to ever see the girl again, gazed up at Brian (the wonderful man caressing her shoulder) and the pair exited the dorm for the final time.

"Miss Delores..." Jennifer had dashed out of the front door and towards the front gate-Delores and Wendy languishing behind (Xavier and Nicholas opting to stay behind and wait for Brian). Wendy seemed invariably concerned; her bodily stance mirroring what Delores noted of Jennifer five minutes prior in Hoffman's office: fretting, consternation, but in the tone Wendy utilized Delores could sense months upon months of frustration seeping forth.

Delores was well versed in observing body language-becoming an expert in the craft while working at Montahagan and Lewis (the pair of bank presidents oft coming to the office reeking of scotch-only to inform her in response to her reasonable query of "Anoth'r late night, sirs?" with ""Donch'a worry none, Delores.".) She was not foolish enough to buy that flimsy excuse and observed their mannerisms closely (noting each and every abnormal action they would engage in and keep them on record in case her testimony to the presidents' competence to lead the bank was ever needed).

"Please, deah, call me "Mom" or "Mother" or just "Delores"." It was not a difficult request-Delores feeling elderly whenever someone referred to her as "m'am" or "madame"; she only thirty-two years only (hardly ancient by any standard), but due to the swift growing up in lieu of serving as surrogate mother to her four siblings maturity was a facet inevitable to accompany such a lifestyle. The Jersey native smiled downward at the blonde child whose complexion bore a ghoulish tinge to it (a visit to Doctor George DEFINITELY needed in the near future). "What's t' problem, deah?" Wendy was guarded about her relationship with Jennifer-the sole individuals in the entire homestead whom knew of her forbidden love being Eleanor and Clara (neither of which having hostility towards either she or her love, so confiding in them seemed safe; Eleanor being too stoic and aloof to spill her secret to anyone and Clara was just...Clara and never spoke in general unless it was medically pertinent). Could she trust this American woman with this secret, and she not think ill of her for it?

"There's something you need to know about Brown, and to a greater degree Jennifer." Wendy and Delores were following slowly behind Jennifer; the brunette waiting by the now open front gate.

"Theh ain't anything you can tell me about a dahg that I ain't seen before. [Grinned down at the flaxen haired maiden-the Jersey native so pretty and kind, rational and accepting] Grew up with three." Jennifer was waving the duo to catch up with her-mother and new daughter obliging.

"[Calmly-as though rehearsed in front of a mirror hundreds of times, but more likely tirelessly repeated to a stubborn girl] He's not a real dog. He's stuffed. I've told Jennifer that every single, damn day for three months, but she prefers to spend a great deal of time with a toy dog and not with her...with me. I don't mean to seem selfish, but I worry about her. I...I love her, Delores. Love her with all my heart, and I don't want to see her mind break. If he was a real dog, then I'd gladly help her raise it like she wanted us to, but...he just is not real." The agony mingled with frustration in the beautiful girl's voice. Delores had noted this behaviour before-her own cousin secretly married for five years to her girlfriend since high school (she was twenty-nine and could not be happier married to another woman). It did not faze the Jersey native-society's implemented norms never something she chose to recognize in the face of those close to her and moreover matters of love. If Jennifer made Wendy happy then who was she to tell the girl not to pursue a life with the brunette?

Wendy's concern over three months troubled Delores-the duo dashing after the stubborn brunette who seemed to had gotten so wrapped up in her new family that she completely forgot about taking Wendy to the sick bay after her "ten minute" warning.

How was she to respond to a girl who seemed to have an imaginary puppy she could not see was really a toy? Could she channel her mother and utilize the same tactics that her experienced mum used on Delores' sister?

Jennifer was not as feet-footed as the other orphans; Xavier even occasionally surpassing her in a foot race (Delores and Wendy easily catching up to her).

Before them was a path veering to the left-a wooden shed barely visible through the treeline.

"He's in there." Jennifer pointed at the shed-the excited child careened down the hill towards the shed (Wendy cupping her face in agitation-Delores all the more concerned for Jennifer's well being).

Following after Jennifer, Delores was exponentially quicker to reach the shed than Wendy (the blonde child none at all thrilled to, once again, be in the presence of the object which had seemingly driven her beloved into a mania). Jennifer patiently waited for her companions to catch up before standing on her toes and running her hand along the length of the frame above the door; a small lip in the wood caught Jennifer's hand to which she retracted it (a key in her petite hand). Delores had not noted the padlock surrounding the metallic handle coupled with a sturdy chain until Jennifer's motion of unlocking the padlock drew her eyes to it.

"_What in t' hehl is in theh?"_ It was a reasonable question-no sane individual chaining a small puppy within a wooden shed and then padlocking that same chain. It HAD to be a dangerous animal (perhaps a full grown dog that bit her fellow orphans before, and Hoffman commanded her to put a chain and padlock onto the handle so that if it DID try to escape it would have a difficult time doing so).

Jennifer grinned upward at Delores, threw off the chain onto the dust and moss encrusted ground beside of her, took a breath and deposited the padlock on top of the chain. Wendy had caught up with the duo-a hacking fit stopping her halfway down the path, but muffling it with her polyester dress she was able to escape notice from her companions. The blonde crossed her arms and rolled her eyes with a shake of her head when Delores regarded her.

Throwing open the shed door revealed...

A filthy, tan stuffed dog toy with a brown, leather collar sat on a blanket with a tarp over it.

Wendy had been correct, and this was (indeed) an immensely serious situation.

Ambling over to the toy, Jennifer began speaking to it, petting it and hugging it as though it were a real puppy.

Wendy and Delores entered the shed behind the girl-the blonde pointing to the display as though to suggest "Do you see what I've had to put up with?" (Jennifer whirling around and holding "Brown" up for her two companions inspection.

It would have been a fairly well-made toy when it was new, but this was FAR from a new toy and FAR from clean (insects visibly buzzing about the dirty, grimy mishmash of stuffing and cotton-seams were coming undone at where the shoulder joint would meet the clavicle on a real dog).

"Meet Brown, mum!" Jennifer held the toy up as though she wished for Delores to take it and "love on" it as she had been.

Delores glanced at Wendy-the girl throwing up her hands in agonized frustration; Wendy opting to lean against the side of the shed as Delores took a knee upon the dirty floor.

"Jennifer, com'n sit with me, please." Jennifer smiled happily, Brown in her arms as she sat. "You love Brown, don't y'?" The brunette hugged the toy to her chest and grinned happily. "He's a cute lil guy, but you've got to realize something, honey: he's just a toy. [Pats the toy's head] He's not a real dog." Jennifer backed away in horror-the words of Wendy coming from her new mother. "Now, we're not say'n you can't keep the toy [Wendy shook her head quickly and blinked-the girl mouthing "We're not?"], but he needs a good wash first."

[Tears formed in Jennifer's eyes as she hugged the toy tightly-her face buried in the dirty fur]

"Jennifer, honey, list'n to me: [Crawled over to the girl] you're a big now, an' bein' you're a big girl you've got't realize what is real and what is not." [Motioned for Wendy to come sit by her-the blonde girl nodding and joining her mother] "We're real, sweety. Me an' your...Wendy here. [Pats Brown's head] He's just a toy, honey. Look at him, and you'll see. [Jennifer shook her head-the truth so close to setting in, but she did not wish to accept it]" Wendy pursed her lips and crawled towards Jennifer-the blonde stroking her girlfriend's hair gently, "shhhhh"ing her soothingly.

Delores had not witnessed a love so clear in girls so young before, but it was beautiful to her and she could not help but smile.

"Jennifer, darling, [Glances over at Delores] please listen to Delores. For me." It was the second time that day that the "for me" card was used, and for the second time that day Jennifer nodded and listened to her girlfriend's request-Wendy cynical that it would work, but with Delores there she never knew. Maybe this would be a breakthrough.

She had used the "for me" card regarding Brown before, but Jennifer only ever halfheartedly gave in and always, consistently went back to her "puppy". Wendy was not an adult, despite her striving to behave as one, and desperately hoped that this would work.

Delores placed her right hand dutifully placed upon Jennifer's left knee (Wendy unflinching at the gesture).

"I have a younger sister, sweety. [Jennifer did not turn her gaze to her mother] Her name is Mathilda. Seeing as I was t' oldest in t' family o' five kids, I had t' be a mommy while our real mommy was grading papeh's. She was MY school teacher, and gave me t' job o' being the adult when she couldn't." Wendy turned her attention to her mother-the story not connecting, but she was a respectful child. "Mathilda was abo't your age when began fantasizing that her stuffed tiger, Clementine, was talking to her." Jennifer glanced up at her mother's words-her eyes red and puffy from the tears. Delores hugged the girl-the child feeling only the minutest bit of her spirits lifted. "Mot'a spoke with her abo't the tiger-said that if she is t' live a happy life she'd got'a put more affection on those around her what are real, and not what ain't." Jennifer sadly hugged Brown to her. She understood what was being asked of her (it having been requested only moments before), and it was absurd-the absurdity of it not drying her tears, however.

"[Pleading] He IS a real dog, Delores. He is a good friend and I care about him." Wendy was clearly getting more and more frustrated by the moment-the lost cause next to her being solidified that much more.

"Sweety, we're y' friends-me and definitely your girlf [Caught herslef]...Wendy heah'." Delores gently gripped Brown-Jennifer not fighting her as she peeled the dog from her grasp. "Now, honey, look at him real good and tell me what you see." Wendy had not ever considered this tactic before-this psychological approach more esoteric than what she was used to with her pleading requests.

Wendy turned her darling's face towards her own and dabbed her eyes free of tears with the clean, upper portion of her pinafore-smiling to see that Jennifer was bereft of tears, she motioned to the toy dog.

Jennifer took a deep breath and looked at the cute toy before her. At first, she saw her treasured companion-the faithful dog who had stood by her and kept her safe for three months (in her own mind); the fifth grader smiling at the panting puppy with the waggly tail. Then, the image before her blurred, reshaped and Jennifer blinked away the blur. In the place of the happy, friendly dog was a dirty, moth eaten but still adorable toy dog.

Jennifer realized then and there that the fantasy she had been living within was just that: a fantasy. Wendy encircled the broken girl in her loving arms.

"I had tried to get her to see that Brown was nothing more than a toy for months and you managed the impossible in minutes." Grateful admiration filled the blonde's visage; Jennifer confused by the image of the toy Delores was holding in her grasp.

"Wendy..." Jennifer's meek and timid voice (the one that Wendy was so accustomed to) was barely audible and would have been inaudible if the desired target had not been holding the broken girl.

"[Soothingly stroked Jennifer's hair-kissing the top of her head as she rocked her back and forth] Yes, my love?"

Jennifer pointed to Brown-Wendy following the imaginary line her finger drew through the air.

"Brown's filthy again. I must've dropped him in the mud. Would you mind helping me get him to the filth room, so I can clean him and...[The brunette's eyes widened] Oh my! His stitching! Amanda will have the thread to fix this." Wendy was stunned-the girl NEVER having referred to Brown in the capacity of a toy (using words such as "stitching" or even bathing him) in the five months she had known her. She didn't even care that Jennifer was going to keep the toy now that she knew that the girl could differentiate between reality and fantasy.

"_She's a miracle worker! I...I don't even know how to repay her for this. Jennifer will be all mine now, and I couldn't be happier, but...WAS I too selfish? My kingdom of the Rose was for she and I, but now that we're being adopted it seems a moot point." _Wendy's reverie was broken by Jennifer kissing her cheek.

"Darling, we need to go pack and I need to put Brown in the wash." Wendy nodded, in a daze, as she released Jennifer limply; the mentally scarred child casting her gaze from her new mother to her lover (worry etched along her pretty features). "Wendy? Darling, are you alright?" Wendy shook herself from her stupor and smiled at the brunette beside of her.

"There's something I must do before any of leave the orphanage [The much quicker Delores rising to her feet-aiding her girls to theirs] . [Grunts] Would you two mind terribly accompanying me?" Jennifer nodded-of course she would accompany her lover, to Hell and back if need be. Delores bit her lip: Brian would be worrying where they were by that point, but...

"Sure, I'll come with'a, sweety." Delores had not even the slightest what Wendy needed to do-the girl mysterious save for her love for Jennifer.

Wendy's mind was racing-formulating a plan to meet the goal she had to achieve._"This is the day that Stray Dog dies, and my kingdom crumbles. __****Sighs** **__Delores and Brian...they've shown me that there truly are more important things than some stupid title which will fade. A family, future with Jennifer. These are the important things. Not some impermanent hierarchy which...How have I lived with myself knowing that those children were subjugated to my ridiculous rules? They are better off without a ruler, without a Prince, without...a Princess, and safe from Stray Dog's murderous tendencies. Gregory Wilson, you shall know the truth this day." _The trio of ladies ambled forth from the ramshackle shed-the door shutting behind them with a click.

Next Chapter: This Is What It Sounds Like When Doves Cry

Will Wendy be successful in attaining her goal of ridding the world of the serial killer, Gregory "Stray Dog" Wilson, or will she become another victim to add to the pot of peas?

Stay tuned. Same Rose time. Same Rose channel.


	3. When Doves Cry

Without You I'm Nothing: A Rule of Rose Fanfic

Note: This fanfiction was inspired by not solely Rule of Rose but also the Placebo song Without You I'm Nothing, (for this chapter only) Prince's hit song When Doves Cry, Coheed and Cambria's brilliantly written Blood Red Summer, Puscifer's Undertaker and (from this chapter on) the Beatles' hit Eleanor Rigby. As such I do not own either the songs or Rule of Rose. Atlus, The Beatles, Prince, Puscifer, Coheed and Cambria and Placebo have those honours.

Author's Note: This shall likely be rife with OOC characterization, since in some cases I did not find that enough characteristics were included to make the girl more than a cliché. I shall do my best to ensure that the portrayal of the girls in this story are respectful and accurate to the original. I do not own anything except for the couple who adopt Eleanor-the Montahagans.

Note on Release Dates of Chapters: With my college semester beginning on Tuesday (August 19) I shall likely not have the time to put these out as regularly as I have been. If you enjoy this story, then I implore you to be patient and know that the chapters WILL be coming out.

Chapter Three: This Is What It Sounds Like When Doves Cry

**Rose Garden Orphanage-Cardington, Bedfordshire, England-March 10, 1930 11:00 a.m.**

Inspiration. Diana had remained upon the downy quilt affixed on her stiff mattress for fifteen minutes-the ambient tapping of the tip of her pen upon the lined paper in her lap leaving small pinpricks within the blue lines (the auburn-haired seductress's aim impeccable). Writer's block plagued the ninth grader; the vacuum of solitary she opted for invariably not aiding her pursuit for additional lyrics to her song.

For a change, had Eleanor had hazarded a gaze beyond the slender object of her disdain she would have noted a two foot high stack of dictionaries, thesauruses, reference guides to effective writing and a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula.

Much akin to Xavier, Diana's entire persona was a front; the fiery auburn quaffed vixen merely utilizing a bunker to hinder torment from befalling her. Clara was the sole individual in the entire estate (nay, the entirety of the world) whom could claim knowing beyond the stiff, conniving, wicked sexpot front and see the "true" Diana.

Diana Killarny was born August 12, 1915 to Percival Scott and Geraldine Naomi Killarny within the maternity ward of Leeds General Infirmary (Leeds, England). Percival Killarny, a boxer, became affiliated with an unsavory sort for the sake of obtaining more money to "support" his family (the outcome of the match contingent on the wishes of the Irish mafia he so stupidly became acquainted with). Greed became the optimal word within the Killarny abode-Geraldine pleading Percival to cease his connections with the gangster lot his tunnel-vision shuffled him into the company with.

Percival's competitiveness waxed infuriating to his Geraldine-the burly Irishman's penchant for stubbornness as taxing as his insufferable binge drinking. He drank to dull the pain, but pulling on a litre of rum nightly only served to alienate him from his family (the boxer, battered and broken from his match, never laid a finger on his wife or daughter). He possessed no viable social skills, but he loved his family, and no matter how shortsighted his ambitions may have been his heart was in the right place.

Percival loathed being told to "take a fall" to another competitor whom he knew, for certain, that he was vastly superior to-this magnified agitation coming to a head when he did not comply and take the fall. He barely was able to retreat from the four hundred square foot "arena" before Paddy O'Shaughnesy (the Leed's representative for the Irish mafia) tore after him in his Renault GS-Tommy guns and revolvers hailing bullets after the boxer's retreating Blériot-Whippet.

Percival carried a gun, but the cluster of blows to his head that night rendered him less than capable of thinking cognitively and make wise decisions.

Paddy was lucky with a well aimed shot-the bullet nicking Percival's left, rear tire and the boxer, husband, father found himself contending with a bare axle port (the metal screeching along the highway; the next shot was aimed for his head but hit his neck (the boxer losing the ability to steer, and careened into a tree, but was still very much alive). He was damn stubborn, much akin to his daughter, and though he had fifteen hundred pounds of metal and wood surrounding him when Paddy's car stopped and the gangster was standing next to Percival's limp, pathetic frame crushed in the wreckage he uttered three, defiant words (coupled with his flipping the bird): "Feck off, bellend."

And he was shot.

Diana's mother did not fare much better-Paddy reckoning that she would be an excellent addition to his "lucky harem o' lasses". When Geraldine refused, spit in his face and slapped him Paddy did not garner her as swift a demise as her husband (the Irishman taking it as a personal offense instead of merely business). With six year old Diana cowering beneath the sofa, the first grader witnessed the mobster pitch her mother through the plate glass living room window; the twenty-four year old woman crashing into the cement banister of her apartment building (her neck broken on impact).

Diana was found seven hours later by her neighbor, Eliza Aldridge, who took her to her "Uncle Hoffman's" orphanage. Diana was devastated when her mother passed-the mourning amassing a toll upon her young psyche (three years passing before she was able to cope with just her MOTHER's death). Diana was a "daddy's girl"-her father teaching her everything he knew from the ring (their form of bonding); Geraldine not approving, but recognizing the necessity for such a skillset to exist. The auburn-haired waif NEVER recovered from her father's passing-she longing to have been the "Strong Willed Princess" when he was alive, and then perhaps she could have coaxed him to move out of Leeds and to London or Essex or even the Suffolk region. ANYWHERE but the Irish mafia-laden Leeds.

Diana, unwillingly, remained at the Rose Garden for the next eight years-the girl growing into a cynic who was aware that she had stared death in the face and survived (Paddy having walked out of the apartment after the murder of her mother), but it became apparent that to survive in an orphanage with fifteen other, selfish children one must become the Alpha so as to instill a pecking order. After conniving, stealing, lying and brawling her way into a feared and loathed dominant female (over the course of eight years) traits that a "normal" fourteen year old girl would posses: kindness, love, respect were left in the wake of survival traits such as sustaining her own selfish desires. What she failed to realize was that having friends, displaying love towards another human being and being a kind, generous soul were not weaknesses at all. They, instead, were traits which showed a strength of character and an ability to coexist with others on a level beyond the occasional, passing "Hello".

Writing was not an innate trait which Diana possessed (despite her penchant for the lyrical)-the fourteen year old "Duchess" struggling with compound syllable words. She had nearly scrapped the bit she had been pouring over fifteen minutes prior (patience assuredly not a trait which Diana possessed), but despite her penchant for self congratulatory arrogance and loathing any measure of "schoolwork", she was a perfectionist when it came to her own art. Meg and Eleanor strove to drill into her that if she implemented a fraction of the effort she incorporated into her art during school hours she could be a straight "A" student.

They did not buy, for a moment, that she was incompetent or devoid of ability. Anyone who could pen "this is what it sounds like when doves cry", and when asked of the meaning of the phrase detach herself from her diabolical demeanor due to caring about her craft (with no shred of sarcasm, arrogance or antagonism present), to explain that the phrase and the stanza it was included in were all talking about herself, how she viewed her lack of parents in her life and to what degree she attached facets of her parents to her own decision-making ability (taking after her father moreso than her mother).

"[Gazed at the notebook in her lap-kicked off her boots and laid backward onto her bed (her left leg lazily draped over her right as she affixed the notebook between her thigh and belly)] [Her eyes lit up, a grin plastered across her face as she jotted down what she ascertained to be a masterstroke] Faint, white figures paint my...[Grimaced at the scribbled text marring her already sloppy notebook and furiously blurred out the text with her pen] No...[Bit the tip of her pen-her eyes lolling upward as she desperately grasped for the continuation of her latest "lyrical Mona Lisa"]

You were waaaaay out of line.

Went and turned it all around on me again  
How can I not smell your lie,  
Through the smoke and arrogance.

Diana gazed expectantly at the notebook propped upon her lewdly sprawled frame-the freshman's eyes darting across the page (every syllable of every word comprising the piece read from every possibly concocted angle-the newly attained string of words not fitting enough for her "perfect" song).

"[Huffed-gripping the notebook with both hands, sits upright and flings the collection of her innermost meanderings, psychotic ramblings and inappropriate sketches of what she presumed her own body would appear as when she came of age at the door frame (she completely missing and the leather bound book lazily plopping against the frame of Olivia's bed twenty feet away)] Dammit! I can't collect my thoughts for one, bloody moment to write one, measly song!" The fourteen year old's agitation waxed considerably more loudly than she had anticipated-the unmistakeable chirp of Meg's posh manner of speaking clearly audible from down the hallway. "Oh bugger all! The sodding puppy comes for its belly rub." She did not detest Meg. On the contrary: Diana thoroughly and completely enjoyed having Meg in her company-the wicked teenager enjoying possessing her own, unquestioning peon to do her bidding.

Said "peon"s patent leather shoes clicked soundly as they grew closer-stopping just outside of the doorway (the meek intellectual steeling herself for an encounter with the object of her affection-the girl who made her flesh sweaty, her heart race and the ordinarily articulate Meg become a stammering, gelatinous puddle before her).

"I can hear you breathing, Meg." Diana's curtly uttered shout was a fabrication. She could not actually hear her breathing from that distance away, but instilling fear, decimating will and furthering the eleven year old into a position of submissive boot-licking was a fetish for the teenager and the sole aspect of joy she could claim outside of her art. "Oi! Don't just stand there, yeah. Come on in." Diana was immensely distracted-Brian adopting Eleanor putting her off deep within the recesses of her wicked heart, and disallowing her of presenting herself as she ordinarily would to her lackey.

"_Why should that bloody Eleanor get adopted and not me? I'M the pretty one! I'M the sexy one! _[Her rambling psyche halted, considering the possibility that perhaps that was not at all what was consistently needed of her]_ That IS what is expected of me...Right?"_

"Diana? [Detaching one's mind from the reality surrounding them is certainly not healthy-doubly so if one is anticipating the arrival of an individual perceived as naught but a serf] Can you hear me, Diana?" Diana's consciousness had the propensity to shift inwardly and thereby tune out the outside world-Hoffman scolding her in the classroom for "glazing over once again" and having no answer to the question the elderly pedophile had asked of his student. It aided her, for the most part, to escape from the dilemmas surrounding her on a daily basis and numb the hurt which came from not possessing a family. She did not even hear Meg enter the room, clutching her precious notebook (containing information concerning the Prince and Princess of the Rule of Rose, proper etiquette when associating with another individual, her research about the demons fabled to abduct sloppy, slacker children who do not "do their chores" and her inventions), and clomp her way to her bedside.

Diana had no friends save for Clara-Margaret Thelma Adler hardly a friend (the sixth grader barely tolerable to the high schooler and her desire to flee the miserable excuse for a home). Though she merely tolerated Meg, she was never outwardly antagonistic towards nor did she physically assail the girl. Cold and biting comments were a commonality when speaking to Diana, and said comments were no more cold or biting towards Meg than they were to anyone else.

Margaret Thelma Adler was born within the maternity ward of St. Mary's Hospital, Manchester, England in July of 1918 to David Robert Adler and Hilda Lucille Adler. She was not always the shuffling, staunch intellectual stood over Diana. There had been a period, during Margaret's preschool years, where she had been as any other child in her region: fun-loving, devoted to her parents and not concerned with her schoolwork whatsoever.

David Adler was a captain in the Royal Air Force; a fighter pilot stalwartly leading his men into battle with the ferocity of a battle-hardened veteran. When World War I came to an end, his wife of six months (Hilda) reported to him of her pregnancy. David did not know how to be a father (his own father walking out on him when he was nine) but happily accepted the news with poise and grace-the young man willing to jump on the "shock grenade" and take the blast into fatherhood. After she was born, David suggested to name his newborn after his own mother: Margaret-the name perfectly fitting for the child who one day would live up to her name and seek her own "pearl of wisdom".

Hilda Lucille Adler was born Hilda Lucille Almassy, in Debrecen, Hungary June 1, 1894 to staunch Catholics who stated that if Hilda ever were to turn up unmarried and pregnant she was no longer an Almassy and would have to fend for herself in the "cold, cruel, miserable world", due to her mother quipping "no family of mine shall have in it a Godless harlot". After becoming pregnant in 1918, she declared her family dead to her (even though she was not "unwed" when she became pregnant)-the mere idea that raising a child to believe that it would ever be ethical to turn one's own child away due to becoming pregnant abominable to her. She would never permit her parents to instill THOSE values in HER child. What if HER child became pregnant while unmarried? Would SHE turn HER child away merely because she broke some unwritten code of ethics that the family stood by?

Being a fighter pilot left David with a skillset not easily transferable into civilian life-the sole option he could hope for was to become a civilian pilot, but weighed the choice of continuing to fly airplanes and possibly not see his family for weeks or months at a time or pick a lower pay grade position and be there for the growing Meg. Opting for the responsible, the twenty-five year old pilot became a twenty-five year old steel worker at Red Rivet Steel Inc. laying railroad ties for the expanding Granger, Loomis and Dyne railroad company.

He was able to spend the evening with his wife and daughter-all, in all, a perfect situation.

February 1919: a one year old Margaret was being taught to walk by her loving mother, when her telephone rang. On the line was Victor Camsted, the foreman for Red Rivet, phoning to inform the woman that an accident had occurred on the sixth line (a hammer flying from the grasp of one of the workers, to remain anonymous, and her husband suffered a concussion but was rushed to St. Mary's). Horrified, she grabbed up tiny Meg and rushed to the very same hospital her daughter was born in, to find after inquiring of her husband said man was brought into intensive care and she would have to wait.

After waiting impatiently for a solid hour (the woman pacing across the checkered tile floor, within the lifeless, dull, brown waiting room) Doctor Emile Blue (the chief neurologist) emerged from intensive care to inform the Hungarian native that her husband was in a coma and with technology at the level that it was there was nothing more they could do than make him comfortable and pray.

Months passed, Hilda obtaining a position as a dye press cleaner at Green Field Cotton Mill, and still no recovery from her husband. With no family to turn to, save for her husband's alcoholic father and Catholic mother (no brothers or sisters to speak of), she turned to the one individual she had been brought up to trust more than any human: God; the woman venturing to St. Mary's chapel, since she had slept at the hospital for the majority of evenings, and prayed.

She prayed for a sign, and one came: a voice, or so she claimed, spoke to her and told her to take her daughter to an orphanage, renounce her own name and devote her life to God. As much duress she had been under, her friends surmised that she had been driven batshit and belonged in the State Hospital for the Mentally Insane instead of a convent as a nun. Yet, that is what she did.

For a few years, her best friend (Naomi Little) cared for Meg-preventing her mother from taking her to any orphanage-but five years later (in 1924) a six year old Meg was taken in the dead of night by her deranged, mania-stricken mother to the finest orphanage that "God" had directed her to take her screeching first grader to: the Rose Garden Orphanage. With bags in hand, she dropped off her waif of a daughter and departed to her new life as a nun-no soul informing the youth that her father was comatose but very much alive. Naomi decided that it would be too much trauma for the small girl to handle, and Hilda was dead-set on her new life "serving God" so considering her daughter's feelings in the matter came second to what God would want her to do. She did not consider that God would probably wish her to be a mother first and serve him as a nun second.

Meg's former life left in shambles, and the orphans unreceptive (initially) to the "new girl with the thick glasses, Meg haphazardly wandered into the library to escape the ridicule lambasted upon her daily-the thickly paneled, wooden door shut behind her the girl's eyes lit up when they fell upon the trove of literature available (she adoring the fictitious tales of swashbuckling rogues who swept the damsels off of their feet while simultaneously combating pirates-the privateers nary gazing at the cutlasses swishing at them as they calmly batted them aside and saved the day). She only dreamed she could be that fearless, and sought out more material for which to inspire confidence. After devouring the entirety of the library's "pirate" collection, her gaze affixed itself on the classics, and her hand fell upon "The Portrait of Dorian Gray". Adoring the characterization of the tormented man whose sins were reflected on a painting he could never gaze at without himself succumbing to afflictions and rapidly age.

Once the entirety of the fiction section was completed, it taking her only a year to sift through, she grew a fondness for science-Jules Verne's "20,000 Leagues Under The Sea" fascinating her and the desire to see those very mechanical devices come to fruition compounding into an obsession. Every day, after her latest conquest of "Journey to the Center of the Earth" was polished off, she began her very first, scientific sketch: a pneumatic drill which could penetrate bedrock and send the device straight through to the other side to drift among brontosauruses and undiscovered species of creatures.

She did NOT sketch it intending to ever sell the device to a corporation-the laughable concept of an eight year old's crude but recognizable drawing actually being inspired by Jules Verne with the intent on burrowing through the earth's crust enough to cause her to vow never to (should she be adopted) promote her inventions to a single individual outside of the home. She was aware that no human could survive within the superheated interior of the earth, but her scientific pursuits (whether they were sensible or otherwise) never daunted her and neither did Diana's less than favorable opinion every time she displayed her work. The negativity only pushed her to strive harder, but it DID seep into her, and cause her to cry herself to sleep on a handful of occasions (Eleanor noting her soft sobbing and debating whether she should indulge Meg's sobbing with comfort or "I told you so" until the girl vomited from sorrow).

She did not do what she did because she cared for Meg as a person. She pitied Meg, and despised Diana's callousness towards the girl. Eleanor vowed within herself to never be so openly wretched to a single, living soul undeserving of such treatment.

She rose from her bed, crept across the cold, creaky, wooden floor and sat upon the side of Meg's bed-the blonde sixth grader tearfully gazing upward at the "aviary empress" with scrutiny (wondering how deeply she was going to turn the knife). The blade never came-Eleanor sighing deeply and laying down next to the girl (fervently hoping she would not regret that action), put her arms around the weeping blonde who so desperately wanted her love's approval that she did everything Diana asked of her without question; even at the expense of others.

Meg buried her face within the white cotton of Eleanor's night gown-the tears flowing freely amidst her muffled sobs as she wrapped her stubby arms about Eleanor's incredibly slender frame.

"W...Why are you being so kind to me, Eleanor? I...I'm such a dreadful girl, and have been nothing but horrid to you in the past." That was a true statement, and as such Eleanor had no reply aside from patting the girl's back and while gazing downward at the younger child saying a phrase which stuck with Meg, and haunted her whenever she succumbed to an evil deed at the behest of Diana: "Sometimes you do not need a reason to do what is right."

Diana emerged from her reveried state-the emotional cloister she encased herself within meditatively removed when Meg began shaking the auburn haired girl shoulder's (her abject worry for her love's physical state misplaced, yet her own physical state should have been her concern at that moment).

"Oi! Fucking 'ell, Meg." The wicked girl slapped her peon's appendages away from her-Margaret retracting her afflicted member with a yelp (massaging her stung knuckles gently). "You could just say my name. Don't need to shake me." Straightening her brown and green striped dress, Diana sat up-Meg meekly standing by shuffling her feet.

"I just wanted to show you the new invention I had designed." The muttered reply hung heavy within the bunker that had erected itself about the girls (the remnant of the world without immaterial and irrelevant to them). Horrific disappointment, despondency flooded the bookworm-the petite blonde poking her forefingers together nervously as Diana crossed her arms (scrutinizing her lackey).

"_Have I done something wrong? Oh God...I upset her again!" _The terrifying realization struck the socially awkward child-socially normal conventions passing the child by in favor of her immense intellect. What she lacked in common sense she made up for in encyclopedic knowledge.

Yet...Wisdom was, invariably, what the awkward bookworm was in dire need of; nary seeing that Diana did not and would never reciprocate the love Meg held for her. It was an unmitigated love which was likely to put Meg into an early grave due to some reckless behavior spurred by Diana that she simply could not say "no" to. Diana did not love Meg-the morally bankrupt girl only, possibly offering friendship as a best case scenario.

"Alright, Meg, show me the sodding whatsit, or whatever it is thing that you created." Meg instantly brightened up-her countenance shattering the sun's rays of brilliance with her immense joy as she opened her notebook, flipping through while Diana impatiently gazed at her fingernails (wondering inwardly if Clara kept a file in the sick bay); the diminutive blonde shrieking with an "Aha!"-flipping the notebook around and passing it to Diana's lazily outstretched, left hand.

Diana sighed and glanced down at the sketch in her grasp wearily.

It was absolutely fantastic-rivaling the vast majority of her own work in its skillful craftsmanship. Meg possessed raw talent-Diana impressed, and for a change not at all unwilling to pay the girl a compliment.

"[Flipped her wrist upward-the position not only more comfortable for holding the notebook, but also giving her an easier means to study the image before her] I have got to say, Meg: this is...this is absolutely fantastic! [For the first time, Diana paid her a real compliment, and her heart soared] You've got a ways to go before you're as good as me, but it's very good for where you are." Meg accepted that, realizing that a "compliment" (one genuinely coming from the heart) to ever escape Diana's lips and not have some vestige of bite to it was an impossibility and should not be expected.

With no parental figure in her life, Meg never knew what it was to have a supportive, kind and adoring role model to emulate-Diana, unintentionally, forming a surrogate mold in Meg's eyes as the older sister she never had, but at the same time she truly did love the girl. Whether she wished to have what she had heard Martha call as sinful-her emotions still young and it vastly a winding road of trepidation if she wished to call her love for Diana the next, logical step of being "in love" or if it was more of a familial love Meg did not know but scribbled poetry tirelessly for the object of her affection just the same. She ASSUMED, as she hugged her pillow while she slept on the majority of nights, that the love she held for the malevolent teenager was of the romantic variety-Eleanor sharing this sentiment when Meg confided her love for Diana in the aviary aficionado (detailing the contents of her heart to the minutest detail), and Eleanor responding with "It sounds to me like you're in love, Meg. I have never BEEN in love myself, but you know as well as I do what those books we both have read say about love: you're in it if you're willing to go to any, stupid length to meet an end for the one you care for."

It had been the most unnatural experience Meg had ever witnessed: Eleanor, silent and aloof Eleanor, uttering more than a two word sentence to her. Usually, Eleanor would avoid the bookworm unless she needed her help with studying some rare bird, or a Rule of Rose meeting was transpiring. Other than that, Eleanor and Meg did not make it a habit of crossing paths, so (much to Meg's surprise) Eleanor was the one who pulled Meg into the girl's bathroom, locked the door and attempted to talk some sense into her concerning Diana.

"She is evil, Meg. You do not see it, but then again you are blinded by love." Eleanor showing concern for Meg's well being? The bespectacled girl clutched her notebook close to her chest (the thick paper, to her, serving as a shield to her heart) uncertain of what to say or do to the side of Eleanor she had never fathomed existed. "She will hurt you at every turn, use you, then throw you away, and you will one day be in that same position I found you in a few months back: sobbing yourself to sleep, but I won't be there to comfort you because you will be an adult by that point, presumably still with Diana for God-knows what reason, and Diana won't care that she (once again) broke your heart." Eleanor was the last individual she expected to be genuine with her; the "real" Eleanor seemingly one who was incredibly articulate, kind, loving and cared about Meg, but Meg did not know how to process this "real" Eleanor.

ELEANOR, not Wendy or Susan or even Clara, but ELEANOR (of all people) was displaying genuine, heartfelt vested interest in her safety, and condition of her heart. She had even put her arm around Meg and gently squeezed her shoulder-as though in friendship. Eleanor had not engaged Meg in any viable conversation resembling that of friendship prior to that (Eleanor's warning not deterring the blonde from her "mistress").

Meg had been of the party who pilfered Eleanor's bird, Albert, in a (to Diana) hilarious, en masse scare tactic which left the young blonde feeling empty inside; guilt permeating the recesses of her heart and forbidding her from sleeping for three days. Xavier had, so Meg had discovered, returned the bird to Eleanor-the pudgy boy presumably locating the bird after raiding the boy's lavatory during an "adventure" with Nicholas; the bookish girl pondering if Xavier returned the bird out of kindness to Eleanor or if he had affection for the slender child (in the same vein that Meg believed she held for Diana).

Meg had not believed Eleanor's statement-wondering why one whom had a precious item stolen would seek out the perpetrator of that action and attempt to aid them from being hurt. Meg assumed that either Eleanor did not know she had been involved, or the girl was being unusually forgiving of her-not being certain as to which one was correct.

Meg was elated. Diana, HER Diana, actually praised her work-the blonde on cloud nine with glee. Sure, it had been a backhanded compliment but Meg accepted it all the same.

"[Diana cocked her left eyebrow, turned her lip up in confusion and tilted the book counterclockwise to examine the image from every angle] What is it?" THERE was the Diana she knew-perplexed about anything pertinent to the realm of science (waving it away as unimportant or unaffecting to her so what did she care).

IT was a rectangular prism with circles drawn along the bottom and flames shooting out of the circles and what Diana assumed were some kind of straps or handles on the front of the thing. She was doing her best to make sense of it in her own, limited mind.

"[Meg cleared her throat-adoring this aspect of her time with Diana: explaining what exactly her inventions did] I call it a flame propelled jettison backpack. [Noted Diana's abject confusion with all of the hundred dollar words] Or, I suppose it could be called a...hmmm...jet pack." Diana shrugged, handing the notebook back to the girl-having no idea what the device did. "It lifts the wearer into the air [Lifted her hand vertically upward and moved it about forward, backward and side to side] and the wearer can control where he or she goes by moving his or her body in that direction. Pretty neat, huh?" This was Meg's passion: science. Not Diana's-the business of intricate moving parts, and how they functioned in the context of moving a person through the air seemed not only an impossibility to the girl (save for in an airplane or zeppelin), but a waste of time and money that could be spent on an artistic venture.

"It would undoubtedly cost an incredible amount of money, Meg." Diana was, Meg surmised, attempting to be kind and helpful-Eleanor's assessment of Diana as "evil" wholly incorrect in the blonde's eyes. "How would you fund this pursuit anyway?" Meg was stunned. Forethought on the part of Diana-HER Diana showing that she could utilize her mind for something aside from sketches and painting? Meg next assumed Satan would be skating by on ice skates due to Hell having frozen over. Diana was, apparently, more complex than the blonde realized.

She loved Diana, but she was not blind. She knew that Diana had her flaws, but did not choose to see the truly important flaws-merely noting the insignificant ones which (while harmful to the auburn-haired girl) would amount to less than the the truly lack of any virtues that Eleanor regularly witnessed and gave up attempting to warn the lovesick Meg about after her rant in the lavatory; the "bird queen" musing that _"Wendy has her flaws, but Jennifer even sees them and works through them because she loves her. Why can't Meg see the harm Diana can do with HER evil ways, or at least recognize they exist?"_

"Still, pretty neat. I honestly don't really understand any of it, but you seem to care enough about it to want to move forward with this project. I only wonder how you will accomplish this endeavor." It was a reasonable concern, and Meg took note of it. How WOULD she fund it? The calculations were sound, yet she did not even possess a functional (or otherwise) prototype to display for any financial backers, and no soul would be foolish enough to back a project requiring an obscene amount of money to back it without a prototype.

Meg pondered for a moment, before it hit her akin to Hoffman's riding crop straight across her rear: the well-dressed man who everyone told her was adopting Eleanor!

"[Changed the subject] Did you know that Eleanor is to be adopted?" Of course Diana knew. She had been in the same room when the girl was packing-whether Eleanor recognized she had been listening to her and her new father's entire conversation or not. THAT had to have been the issue nagging at the back of her mind as to why she was hung up on her song: the adoption; lyrics usually coming quite easily to Diana, even if she found it requisite to utilize a thesaurus.

"She packed her things earlier. [Diana huffed-though Eleanor could not longer whisper defamatory phrases behind her back, the problem of what would befall the Rule of Rose lingered within her mind (her calm demeanor refracting that sentiment)] I overheard her speaking with a handsome fellow who spoke strangely. I figured he was probably her new father." Meg pursed her lips-the intent to pitch her jet pack idea to the man a long shot (the word "American" having fluttered into her auditory canals, overhearing Xavier and Nicholas excitedly spitball ideas back and forth of what they would do in their new home, but she opted to keep the knowledge of Xavier and Nicholas being adopted over Diana to herself or risk Diana blowing a gasket once again).

"[It then hit Meg-the possibility of their kingdom crumbling one brick at a time] Without Eleanor...Oh my, we must speak with Wendy at once!

Diana shrugged, but humored the girl who would not shut up until she did-the girl rising from the bed as Meg ambled for the door, knelt down and picked up Diana's notebook without looking in it (the blonde passing it to the swiftly jogging Diana-said girl extending her hand and taking the offered book).

With anxiety and halfhearted apathy concerning the state of the Rule of Rose between them, Meg and Diana exited the room in search for their "Princess of the Rose".

Wilson Residence, Cardington, Bedfordshire, England-March 10, 1930 11:00 a.m.

In the precise moment that Diana and Meg sought their "Princess", Wendy, Jennifer and Delores arrived (fifteen minutes trekking along the main road of the orphanage) on a dirt path; a rickety, shingled roof atop a moss-encrusted, wooden siding abode four hundred feet before them.

Jennifer knew where they stood-the ten year old having resided in the basement of the deranged madman known as "Stray Dog" for seven months, but...

He had not harmed her; Gregory M. Wilson decrying her as his departed son, Joshua (mandating that she don the stiff, threadbare vestments of a corpse).

"_Why did Wendy bring us here?"_ Standing at her beloved's side, Wendy gently squeezed the brunette's hand (the blonde's penchant for sensing an imbalance in her darling "Prince"s demeanor impeccable)-Jennifer calming (the depressing homestead a morose sight she never fathomed witnessing again).

"I must confess my sins, Jennifer." Wendy turned to her beloved, clasping her pallored hands over the petite, frail digits of her beloved. "Be my priest."

Clicking of two inch high heels emanated to Wendy's left-the blonde not turning her head to regard her anxious mother's pacing.

"Would y' girls mind terribly if I hav'a smoke?" Wendy offered no reply-the petite blonde intently awaiting for the transparent walls of her own, fabricated confessional to arise and encircle her and the demure brunette.

"N...No, Delores. P...Please, if it will help you, have your..."smoke"." Jennifer did not often find herself as the spokeswoman for Wendy (the frail blonde's illness never deterring her from being immensely strong-willed, and generally gave Diana a run for the title of "Crowned Princess of Stubborn"), but given the circumstance (Wendy's eyes pleading for she and Jennifer to have this discussion...whatever it was), the brunette found herself as emissary for her darling.

Delores opened the comically long stranded purse entangling her left shoulder-a cigarette holder extracted and placed into her mouth (a package of Lucky Strike cigarettes shakily pulled out, opened, a cancer stick yanked from the package and stuffed into the holder).

Delores snagged a pack of matches nestled between her chewing gum and a small bottle of perfume, flipped it open, broke off a match, struck it and lit up-the first drag eliciting a contended "Uhhh" from the pretty American. The nicotine calmed her nerves-her left fore and middle fingers grasping the cigarette holder without shaking whatsoever.

Being from Jersey, and used to reading about mafia-controlled neighborhoods, Delores assumed that the house before her contained a madman who would rush from within and shoot her.

She was half correct, in any event.

Wendy urged Jennifer to walk with her fifty feet from the resumed pacing of Delores.

"[Jennifer turned her head to the jittery American] Uhhh, Mum? [Delores fixated her gaze on her daughter] We need a few minutes, okay?" Delores gave a thumbs up-shivers radiating up and down her spine each time her eyes passed over the house.

"What's the matter, darling?" Jennifer did not know if the pale complexion upon her love's visage was the issue at hand, but the word "sins" had been utilized so unless Wendy had been frolicking about nude in the rain Jennifer was uncertain that Wendy's health was what this discussion was to be about. "Why are we at Gregory's house?" Wendy took in a deep breath and gently squeezed her loves hands within her, kissed them and stared deeply into the loving eyes of the sweet brunette.

"He's Stray Dog." Jennifer had assumed that the legend of Stray Dog circulating throughout the orphanage was all nonsense, and utilized to keep kids in line (possibly created by Martha or Hoffman), but if so why did Wendy...

"What? How is that possible? [Confusion encompassed Jennifer's visage-Wendy getting nowhere, once again, with the girl possessing the dirty, stuffed dog beneath her right armpit] He's disturbed, confused for certain but he is not a killer, Wendy." _"My naive darling, if you knew what I do." _Sifted through the pretty blonde's consciousness, but did not exit her soft lips-what she was about to state feasibly the end of she and Jennifer's relationship, but...

It was a sacrifice she needed to make.

"I started the rumours, the legends, the...lies about Stray Dog...Gregory." Wendy did not blink-Jennifer truly uncertain of how to react to what she could not be certain was a fact. "Jennifer, I love you and what I am about to tell you does not mean I love you any less: [Pondered deeply within herself if it was a mistake to tell her, but surmised that whether they ended their relationship was dissolved or not she would have a clear conscience]: I am the Princess of the Rose. I started those rumours to climb to the top of the aristocracy." Jennifer did not release her girlfriend's hands, nor was she upset. She did not react at all.

"_Shit...I knew I shouldn't have told her." _It weighed upon her soul-the sixth grader's heart breaking even before the breakup she perceived was going to, inevitably, come. But, it didn't.

"[Jennifer took in the intel without raising her voice or slapping her girlfriend-she released her darling's hands and had a sit down upon a low, stone wall behind her-Wendy's anxiety mounting] Why...Why didn't you tell me sooner? You know I would have understood." Wendy winced, kicking herself for not recalling that fact whatsoever.

Wendy sat down beside of her love-Jennifer hugging her knees to her chest; Brown pressed against her bony knees (his softness cozy to the girl).

"I created the Rule of Rose for us. The intention was that I rescued you from Gregory's home, brought you back to the orphanage and we rule, side by side, as Prince and Princess of the Rose." Wendy knew that the download of information was a considerable amount for the girl to take in, but she did need to know this immediately. "Before I could instate you as Prince-requiring Meg drawing up the paperwork, and we both signing the contract-my bronchitis became too much to bear, and up until this month I was unable to do my duties as Princess, much less lift a pen to sign my name on a document." Wendy coughed, and coughed-the girl spitting up a ball of phlegm filled with blood upon the dirt road. " I could not even care for my beloved Peter beyond petting the poor dear and barely having the strength to pour his food into his bowl." Jennifer mulled this over-the information dump hitting her akin to a sledgehammer to the sternum.

She felt betrayed, not by Wendy since she had no control over her illness, but by the remnant of the "Aristocrats". Not a single soul informed her that Wendy was the Princess or she to be Prince.

"_Maybe it's not officially recognized that I am "Prince" until I DO sign the documents." _Inwardly shrugging, Jennifer regarded her girlfriend (Wendy fearfully gazing, with absolute shame, at her love). Jennifer was not upset (the title of Prince irrelevant now that she was to be adopted)-putting her arm around her darling.

"So, wait...All of those terrible things that the orphans had done to me were..." It hit her: the torment she had received ever since arriving to the orphanage-the undue cold shoulders and arrogantly casting her out of activities just due to her lack of a "proper" position seeming petty and yet not unheard of in the context of the aristocracy (save for Eleanor who had not openly mistreated her).

"Diana. Since Meg has to be the one to draw up the paperwork for any new position added to the Rule of Rose, and she is Diana's lapdog guess who conveniently was not available to implement your princehood? You were supposed to be the one to don the mantle of "Princess" in my absence-being of equally shared power to me, and technically would be doing so even now if Meg and Diana did not do exactly the opposite of what I set forth for the Rule of Rose to abide by. Without you to fill the role, Diana became the de facto Princess instead." Horrified, Jennifer's ever wandering psyche retreaded the previous months: the abject torment that she had endured DID possess that "Diana" flare to it (it making entirely too much sense). "Diana is a sadist, but I can't control her. Of all of the orphans, she is the least likely to listen to me. Diana does what Diana wishes to do, and will not permit even me to change that." SHE, timid and weak-willed Jennifer was supposed to be...Princess? But, what about Stray Dog?

"Wendy, what about this lying business? You did not need to lie to gain control of the orphans, love." Wendy huffed-the notion that SHE, weak of frame and ill of body Wendy could physically overpower Diana absolutely ridiculous.

"Darling, think about it: if I had NOT lied, Diana would be Princess now instead of me, now that I have mostly recovered. I can't overpower her, and even AS the Princess she still decides to disobey me-the punishments never fazing her unless I threaten to, again, remove her rank. That is all she seems to care about. If I did not lie, the house would be ruled by a monster, and (my love) which one of us would you prefer to have ruling over the orphans: Diana or [Rested her head upon Jennifer's shoulder] me?" Wendy was correct, and while unethical it was the better option than allowing Diana the run of the house at her leisure.

Wendy gazed to the house before her-her mission for being there rebirthed in her recollection.

"Jennifer, how would you feel about my releasing the orphans from the rule of any Prince or Princess and, instead, simply be kids? To not have an aristocracy to lord over them, or Stray Dog to be fearful of, but to grow up without oppression and fear lingering within their minds and over their heads. Everyone be an equal and free to grow up with an equal chance of being adopted without the quirks of our peers." Jennifer grinned widely, hugging her darling. Wendy took the positive gesture as a "I love it" and continued. "What I am about to do will free the orphanage forever, but will strip you and I of any, possible power for the remainder of time in the process." Jennifer was fine with that. Just as long as the orphans received a happy, positive future free from any Aristocrats, lies or danger.

"I think it sounds wonderful, darling." Jennifer kissed her love's cheek. "What is it you are going to do, exactly?" Wendy was planning this as she went, and while she thought quickly on her feet her plans was not foolproof.

"I am going to tell Gregory the truth. He will not abduct anymore children to keep locked away, kill and then devour. This way, these rumours can't be used against the children and I can dissolve the aristocracy without fear of someone using the same tactics I did to rise up and start a new dictatorship." Jennifer was impressed, and it reminded her of why she loved this girl; Wendy being selfless in the wake of her selfish actions, wishing to rectify her sins and eliminate a threat to human lives.

Jennifer's brave, noble Wendy would never need to worry about losing her like she had feared was happening with Brown. Jennifer vowed deeply within herself that, when she came of age, a ring was going to be placed around her love's finger and a priest present to legalize what they already recognized between themselves for months, in holy matrimony.

"Jennifer, [Gently shook her love's thigh-said brunette coming forth from her reverie] I know that you care for Gregory, much as a daughter does for her father, but he is dangerous and must be stopped, by any means necessary." Wendy rose to her feet-Jennifer releasing her arm as her girlfriend moved-and ambled towards the foreboding homestead; Delores having respected their privacy and keeping her distance. Jennifer did not know what Wendy meant by "any means necessary", but if this would save the orphans from tyranny and the threat of danger befalling them then she would not question it.

"Delores...Mother, I am going in there but please don't worry. I will be back. [Delores coughed, sputtered, hacked against the cigarette's acrid smoke-grasping her daughter's shoulders]" _"Iz she crazy?" _The thirty-two year old's concerns were valid but unnecessary-Wendy feeling perfectly safe walking into the serial killer's home.

"Sweety, let's jus' g' back to t' orphanage, so you two c'n pack and we c'n leave this...horrible place." Wendy understood Delores' reservations, since she would have the same if the situation were reversed, but she HAD to do this since no other soul had the pull over Gregory that she had.

"Mum, [Took Delores' shaky hands-the smoke of her cigarette forming a cloud around the girl, which she waved away] within that house is a serial killer. The police cannot do anything, since he has left no evidence." Delores grew pale, and began sinking to her knees-that her daughter would want to go among killers sickening to her. "He devours them [Delores seemed as though she were going to vomit] Yes...that sort of devour, and literally so. You can read the newspapers talking of disappearances, and if you were to walk inside you would find (in his refrigerator) strange stews...but...I know I'm safe enough to take to him."

"H...How?" Another valid question on the Jersey-native's part. Jennifer remained seated on the stone wall-her girlfriend so brave to be doing something that the brunette knew she, herself, could not.

"He thinks that every kid is his dead son, Joshua. He won't hurt me." Wendy kissed the top of the squatting woman's head, patting her shoulder and releasing her other hand as she took a deep breath and ambled towards the wolf's den.

Next Chapter: Euthanizing a Stray Dog

Note: Will Wendy be able to convince Gregory Wilson that Joshua is deceased, or will the man's own mania overtake the sickly girl? Tune in next episode to find out. Same Rose time. Same Rose channel.


End file.
